


Come Home

by Benevolent_Atlas31



Category: X-Men (Movies), X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Angst, Bottom Charles, But less subtle, Charles You Will Be Drunk, Charles walks, Emma Is a Sassmaster, Emma Logic Is The Best Logic, Emma is a BAMF, Erik Being Cocky, Erik Has Feelings, Erik Logic Is The Best Logic, Erik You Idiot, Erik is Crushing Harder than a 12-year Old Girl, Erik is not a Happy Bunny, F/F, F/M, Happy Ending, Kidnapping, Lil bit of Dub-Con, M/M, Other, Otp: Kiss with a Fist, Poor Charles, Raven is a BAMF, Sassy Emma, Sassy Raven, Top Erik, You Idiots, cherik au, sort of
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-25
Updated: 2015-03-23
Packaged: 2018-03-15 00:39:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 45,784
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3431624
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Benevolent_Atlas31/pseuds/Benevolent_Atlas31
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU where Erik made a promise on the beach:</p>
<p>"I'm coming back for you. I'm not giving up until you are by my side. I'm coming back and you will come with me. Whether you like it or not."</p>
<p>It is five months after the beach and Erik is tired of waiting. He doesn't go himself at first, but when the news comes back around that Charles (his Charles) is . . . crippled (by Erik no less), things get a little . . . out of hand.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Come Home (Cherik Fanfiction)](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/100151) by Firefly2000 (Me on Wattpad). 



_**Charles** _

 

_'I'm coming back for you. I'm not giving up until you are by my side. I'm coming back and you will come with me. Whether you like it or not.'_

Charles Xavier woke up slowly, lifting his head enough to catch a glimpse at the fading sunlight.

It was going to rain today. He knew that. Hank had told him to plan on a day inside a few days ago and he had stocked up on books accordingly in his study. (He also had a hankering stack of bills and odd paperwork he could work on, but he didn't even want to mention it.)

It still came as a shock as he blinked awake.

Charles used to always go up to the observatory on days like this, curl up in the old swinging chair and read book. A cup of tea possibly sitting on the coffee table with steam crawling off the top. Sometimes, Raven would even come in and have him read to her. Usually British literature period pieces. (Jane Eyre _was_ her favorite book.)

He could still do that . . . But it wouldn't be the same.

First of all, he wouldn't be able to feel the cold nipping at his legs, which would cause him to get the large, beige, fleece blanket (which sat in a closet down the hall from the library). It smelled like parchment and musk and that's why Charles loved it so much. It was the only other thing in the mansion -- besides his library -- that didn't smell like dust and mildew.

Secondly, it wouldn't be the same because . . . No. He wouldn't think about the second reason. It was stupid and illogical, compared to everything else.

He sighed. He would go today. He would do it because it wasn't healthy for him to sit in the library all day, or lay in his bed and be waited on. He would go because it had been five months and he needed to start doing well on the terms of being a functional human being.

He would go because he wanted to, and that was final.

He pulled himself up with the lever Hank had designed. His bed was modified by the boys so he could raise and decline it at will, but he thought he should try exercising a bit today.

His injury allowed him to feel everything above the tops of his thighs. It was an odd injury, but it was his. He could sit up by himself, and acquired a decent core through his only means of moving. He could turn and twist his upper body all he wanted . . . he just couldn't get his legs to work.

After a moment of catching his breath, he somehow made it into his wheelchair. He had done this yesterday and the day before and the day before all by himself, but it didn't cease to amaze him what he could do. Usually he needed Hank's assistants, but he had gotten tried of relying on the boys so much and had learned to do some remedial things such as this all by himself.

They needed to live their own lives.

He had encouraged them to leave after they had gotten back. After the accident, they had nursed him back to a reasonable state. He had fervently refused help at first. Not because he wanted to prove something, but because they were young.

They needed to start preparing for their future.

He had told each of them that they could go to Erik. That he wouldn't have been mad or hurt. That if that's what they wanted -- that future -- he wouldn't deny them.

They didn't bite.

They were, actually, somewhat angry at him for suggesting it.

Alex had spoken for the three of them by saying, "Personally, Professor, if we had wanted to go it, we would have done it long before Erik went AWOL. And besides, you saved us. You gave us a home and people to love. Let us do this for you."

Which had been surprisingly sentimental for Alex, but it had brought a blush to Charles's cheeks none-the-less.

But, as much as he needed the help and as much as he loved having them around, he didn't want them to waste their futures based off of gratitude.

Other things were discussed, but with the medication he had been under, he had a hard time remembering.

He still had the wheelchair the hospital gave him. Hank was working on an electrical, more advanced one, but for right now, Charles preferred the manual. It helped him get used to his surroundings and it built him a good set of upper arms.

He started wheeling in the hallway. He should have gotten some clothes on -- real clothes, besides the sweater he had fallen asleep in and the plaid pajama pants -- but he almost felt like that would have ruined it. (Before, he would have just worn his pajamas.)

He felt Alex's mind before he was in line of sight.

"Professor!" He hissed, nearly sprinting towards Charles. "What are you doing out of bed?" He asked him incredulously.

Charles smiled innocently. "I'm going up to the observatory, over the green house." He said simply. "Walk _with_ me if you'd like." The unsaid: 'Not for me.' Was louldly heard, judging by Alex's face.

Alex looked forward with indecision. He wasn't sure if he should urge the professor back into bed or if he should go with him.

Alex, too, loved the rain.

There pleasant memories he had lost about sitting peacefully by a window or on the stairs of his old home, watching the rain fall in a steady downpour. It, too, had clamed his nerves as a child when he got upset or angry. (Of course, worse things happened when Alex got angry compared to Charles.)

It was a common thing they shared: the rain.

"If I go with you, you can't tell hank." He wagered softly, getting behind the chair and pushing it down the hall. Charles growled. "He'll have my head if he finds out I didn't stop you, or at least tried to help you."

Charles wanted to argue. He felt so out of control when someone else was maneuvering the chair. Not that he didn't trust Alex, but it was the idea that someone could control where he was going . . .

When they got to the end of the hall, Charles stopped him by putting up a hand.

"I need to grab something." But when he reached forward to pull open the door, Alex's heated hand stopped him. "Alex-"

"Just tell me what you need. It'll be less for me to get snapped at for later."

And Charles couldn't argue with that.

Hank had become quite the doctor for Charles, and he was little but overbearing to Charles. Not that Charles wasn't grateful, but he was a grown man! He knew what he could and could not handle.

Still, though, he knew it made them all feel better when they could do things for him. They felt terribly awful about The Beach and the fact that they didn't step in in time (even though the logical part in all of them knew there could have been no way to know that that was going to happen.)

Charles sighed, silently giving in. "Just the old blanket. The beige one."

Alex did and sat it in Charles lap.

They continued on without talking until they got the observatory.

 

* * *

 

 

**_Erik_ **

 

Erik Lensherr was sitting up in the study in the safe-house, gripping a glass of brandy to his chest.

His promise to Charles was ringing in his ears.

_'I'm coming back for you. I'm not giving up until you are by my side. I'm coming back, and you will come with me. Whether you like it or not.'_

And he would. He would drag Charles out of that mansion and strap him to the plane if he had to. It didn't matter. By the end of the year, Charles would be by his side and in his arms.

Where he belonged.

He wanted to go back now, but now wasn't the time. He missed Charles. He was worried about him. He thought about him and what he was doing and who he was with. Of course he was worried he would find someone else, but that would not deter Erik. Charles was his salvation; a drug that he would never come off of.

He was brought back into the present when his door was opened softly.

"Erik?" It was Rav- _Mystique_. He had to call her Mystique, he reminded himself.

"Yes?" He asked her. "What is it?"

She sighed. "Can I come in?"

No. "You might as well." He got up, poured another glass and refilled his. "Take a seat." He gestured to the armchair across from the green leather sofa.

She sat and took the glass.

"What's on your mind?" He asked her softly, taking a comfortable seat in his sofa. He took a long pull, almost emptying the glass.

She sighed. "I . . . _Miss him_." She said quietly, pulling her knees to her chest.

He encouraged being proud and not hiding. He really didn't mind that she didn't wear clothes in her blue form. Preferred it almost. But in this position, he was glad she was wrapped in a blanket.

He nodded, his eyes probably looking like he was in deep thought. "I suppose you do. He _is_ your brother after all."

Erik was many things. Sympathetic, usually wasn't one of them. However, even in his nastiest of moods, Erik would never deny or say that Raven and Charles weren't brother and sister. Ever. It didn't matter that they weren't blood.

She nodded, obviously reluctant to say whatever she was planning to.

He sighed. "Raven, I'm not going to be mad at you because you miss your brother, or Beast, or Havoc, or Banshee." He said as gently as possible. "I'm not expecting you to cut ties with them either. They aren't our enemies." He said plainly.

Because they weren't. Erik wished that he thought they were because it would have been so much easier. But they weren't.

It was a team: a team of children he had found out and helped train, and a man he was hopelessly . . . Infatuated with?

No, that term was too bleak

Raven looked hopeful when he started paying attention. Apparently she had been saying something.

"I'm sorry, can you say that again?" He asked of her, rubbing his eyes.

She giggled. "What have you got up in that head of yours?" But she knew he wouldn't answer seriously, so she continued. "I asked if . . . I could go visit?"

He nodded, finishing off his glass and going to refill. Again.

"Would you disguise yourself?" He asked, his back to her. But he didn't ask harshly. Simply curious.

She knew the difference.

She considered this. "I'm still trying to decided." She told him. "I don't want to lie, but I don't want to be turned out." She had obviously given this a lot of thought with a lot of self-conscious.

Erik chuckled, know it probably wasn't the best way to treat this delicate situation. Turning to face her but leaning on the mini bar, he spoke calmly and with humor. "Your brother? Turning anyone out? I'd bet a million dollars that he wouldn't turn out _Azazel_ if he came knocking, let alone his own sister."

And it was true. Erik didn't have a doubt that Charles might even be _happy_ that she had showed up on his doorstep.

She smiled sadly. "True. But then there's Alex . . . and Sean . . . And, Hank." She said the Beast's name in a whisper and that did not go unnoticed by Erik.

He nodded, after a moment. All of the children loved their mighty professor. Even Angel and Darwin had loved him in their short time with him. He was sure that they would be doubly protective of him after . . .

But that was _Erik's_ fault. Even though she went with him, everything _bad_ that could be stuck with the little _family_ was all on Erik. Surely, at least, Charles would see that.

He shook his head in swift, short motions so Raven wouldn't notice. "I see your point. But Charles runs a tight ship over there. He wouldn't let one of his boys be unkind to a lady."

"I think he stopped regarding me as a lady when I walked into his room without any clothes on, clad in blue scales."

Erik winced at that.

True, Charles _had_ been upset. After Erik had sent Raven off to bed, wrapped in his sheet, Erik had walked to Charles's study to see how he was doing.

Charles had damn near had a panic attack! He was curled up on his own green leather divan, clutching a glass of whiskey to his chest looking like he was contemplating the meaning of life. Erik, after having a good laugh, had . . .  comforted Charles best he could.

It had been so hard for him, though, not to simply pull Charles in his lap and card his hands through Charles's luxurious locks.

He sighed again, not wanting to relive the memory, filled with regret.

"No." He said, adamant again. "No. You just surprised him. He was fine with it. He was just scared."

"Sacred?" She stood up quickly. He was surprised at her gusto, but he figured it was justified. "What would have to be scared about? It isn't him who has the blue skin! It isn't him with the clashing red hair! It isn't him who looks like a freak!"

He stood up too, but he didn't shout. "Of losing you." He said simply, plopping back down again.

The brandy was starting to get to him.

She looked to be at the edge of tears. "What?" Her lip quivered.

"Of losing you. That's what he was scared of. He didn't _care_ about you hiding. He never _wanted_ you to be anybody but who you were. However, he didn't want you hunted down, captured, and _experimented on_.

"He didn't want you as somebody's lab rat or somebody's hunt." He sat down the glass. "There are a lot of things you can say about your brother. That he's an egotistical _bastard_ , for example. But the one thing you _can't_ say was that he ever wanted you to feel anything less that what you're worth; that he ever meant to do anything to harm you."

With that, he left the study and stumbled down the stairs to his bedroom.

 

/

 

He lay in bed that night wondering of what he could try and dream of. He was sure he was going to have a nightmare. Usually that's what he had: nightmares. But now they were always about Charles now.

Even the good dreams eventually turn into that day at the beach.

He shuddered. He wanted to get to the other safe house before he got to Charles. He wanted to get somewhere where the government couldn't get them; where the people couldn't get them.

It would just be him and Charles.

 


	2. Chapter Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Raven visits Charles.

**_Charles_ **

 

It was quiet in the observatory.

Granted, it was always quiet there, but today, compared to the pounding rain outside, it was nearly silent in the glass dome of thick glass. Some of the pieces in the triangle pattern were stained with various colors per Raven's request when the place was built.

He didn't want to read, _The Great Gatsby_ , but it was the only thing in his library he _hadn't_ read -- or at least peeked though -- for the five months he'd been in bed.

He'd kept it in his bedside table. Partly because he didn't want to look at it and partly because he didn't want to get rid of it.

But there he was, brooding over it with his cup of tea in his hands.

He was entering chapter 2 of the story when the cup of tea slid through his hands and crashed onto the floor.

It had become white noise again; they're thoughts. Of course he had promised them complete safety and privacy. He did a quick sweep before bed, just to make sure they were alright. But other than that, he had forced their voices to just to become background. It wasn't hard.

He was so familiar with them.

That's probably why he had noticed so immediately when a new voice screamed out in his head at the edge of the estate.

Well, not so much 'new', as almost forgotten.

Raven may have been clever with her disguises; often using the new voice in her regular train of thought, but he knew her head better than to be tricked by this foolery.

Quickly, he swept through the boys heads to see if they had any view from a window.

 _Oh_ , he thought, _I'm so stupid_.

He could just _look_ through Raven's mind.

He crawled into her head softly, wrapping around her mind like a soft blanket, but trying his best not to let her know she was there.

Through their childhood, he had trained her to keep telepaths out. She could never really do it with him, but then again, he was pretty good at his ability.

He knew Erik now had a telepath; Ms. Frost, as he remembered her. He hoped his sister was careful with her.

Once he tuned into a more-coherent, less-panicked thought, he was surprised by how much she was trying to hide from him.

The red teleporter, Azazel, had dropped her off even farther away from the estate. She had claimed that she needed time to think; time to prepare. Really though, she just didn't want to be seen.

He needed to do something fast.

For one, he didn't know _why_ she was here. He wasn't going to look, but he was sure that it wasn't just for a friendly chat. She was radiating nervousness _and_ hope.

He sent a mental message to Hank and Sean first.

_Hank, Sean. There is a woman heading to the door. I want you to answer, but **don't say anything.** **Don't** **listen to her.** Just **bring her here** , to the observatory. **Don't say a thing to her, understand?**_

It took a moment, but with confusion lacing their thoughts, they agreed.

Next, he moved onto Alex.

_Alex, I need you up here. **Now.**_

He knew he should have elaborated, but that would have subdued Alex's instincts. It was cruel, but it needed to be done.

He was there within thirty seconds.

"Professor?" He called.

"Alex!"

He came rushing in. "What's wrong?" He asked when he saw Charles's easy state still on the chair.

He sighed. "Listen, you need to _stay calm_ while I tell you." Alex quickly nodded, out of breath. "Raven's here."

When Alex started to look like he was going to go scream it through the mansion, he continued quickly tripping over every other word. "Listen! She's not here to _harm_ us. Even if she was, I would be able to stop her easily. I just . . .

"Hank and Sean are going to bring her up. They don't know, so don't tell them. Just, take them down to the lab so she and I can talk _without_ interruptions. Please?"

Alex scoffed and put his hands on his hips. "Fine. But _**the second** _ I hear _anything_ that sounds suspicious, her ass is out."

Charles winced but nodded. "I'm afraid I must ask one more thing of you."

Alex simply nods.

Charles doesn't _want_ to do it.

On one side, he's always hated lying to Raven, his little sister. He's always hated keeping things from her when, at one point, she was the only one that he could trust. He still, after everything, trusted her with his life.

But on the other side, he wasn't ready for her knowing about his . . .  _condition_. He still wanted to be the strong older brother that could fight anything away because she was scared. He still wanted to be the man she was oh-so-proud of not only six months ago.

Most of all, though, he's not sure he's ready for _Erik_ knowing.

Charles let's out a sigh. "I need you to hide my chair. I need you to put it somewhere she can't see it. I'm sorry if it's--"

But Alex is already shaking his head and mumbling, "Don't be ridiculous." Among several curses as he tried to fold the thing.

After a lot of fumbling he's got it down to the most compact it can get and hiding it under the dingy sofa.

When he stands, he dusts off his jeans and straightens his jacket. "So when is she-"

But he was interrupted by the doorbell and the sound of clacking footfalls.

He listened through Hank's analyzing thoughts.

_"Hello. Is there a Charles Xavier here?"_

_**The professor said not to say anything.** Was thought with the utmost precedence. _

_Hank turns to Sean who has been thinking the same thing and they both turned on their heals. Hank lets out a breath as he hears the door close, but still doesn't bother to turn and look at her._

_"Sorry if I've come at an inconvenient time."_

Raven's really laying it on thick with the boys.

Her disguise is a simple one. She's a young, black-haired woman with an innocent face and thick glasses. Panic and self-doubt is laying beneath the surface and is almost crippling. She's afraid of something, Charles can tell.

_Sean slowly falls behind this mysterious woman, knowing that if she attacks, there needs to be someone behind._

_Hank is suspicious. He wants to ask so many questions but the instructions were clear and there is obviously a reason for the urgent instruction. He knew something must be up if the woman did not instantly panic at Hank's blue, beastly form._

_"So he is home, is he?" she asks again, sounding a hundredth the doubtful that she is really feeling._

_As they climb the stairs, she reaches out a hand to touch Hank's shoulder, probably forgetting the fact that she doesn't look like herself, and that even if she did, she wouldn't be permitted the touch._

_The rest happens in one swift moment:_

_Sean quickly grabs her around the waist, making sure he's got a good hold on her. He tries to make sure his grip isn't_ too _tight, just in case she isn't exactly an enemy._ _Hank, taken a bit by surprise, quickly turns and has grips on her wrists._

_Together, the boys practically pull her up the stairs and into the observatory. To Charles's surprise, she doesn't fight it._

She's producing a good enough blank that he cannot read her immediate thoughts, but he doesn't have to be a telepath to know his sister.

She doesn't want to be seen as a threat.

When they are in front of the door, Charles takes a deep breath or two, trying to prepare. Even though she doesn't look like herself, Charles hasn't seen his sister in five months. He hasn't talked to her, felt her mind . . . Even though he's on the defense, it's good to have her here.

The knocks are soft taps, but they sound louder than all the thoughts of New York city.

Alex goes to open the door, looking back to Charles to confirm that he still wants to do this.

A breath is shared.

"We cannot hide forever, Alex."

A nod is shared.

The door is opened.

 

/

 

Hank and Sean set her down straight across from him in a twine, old chair. He could feel reluctance emitting off of her, discomfort and nostalgia following behind. They were almost spread across his own features, but he couldn't help but smile at her . . . shyness.

That had been _her_ chair, after-all. He was sure it didn't serve her as well now, but on the back (as they both knew clearly) if someone looked, they'd find a clearly written word: **_Raven_** on the back, written in blue crayon (ironically). However, sitting in the chair now, he knew, was **_not_** Raven and therefore was no longer sitting on her property (not ironically).

"Hello." he greeted. "I apologize for my boys' reaction." she flinched. "But I suppose they are a bit on edge." Charles turned to them, knowing that she would have some sort of retort to that that would out her to the boys.

"Thank you very much, Hank, Sean." They nodded, frowning. "Alex, if you would be so kind as to show them to the destined location, I would be most grateful."

Alex, noticing what calm Charles was trying to keep up, flashed a dazzling, charming smile that masked his growl. He narrowed his eyes at Raven's form but said nothing obvious.

"Yes, professor." He said, turning and putting a respective hand on both Sean and Hank's shoulder, ushering them out quickly.

Charles flinched at the sickly sweet tone.

The door was shut with and obvious slam, and Charles tried not to listen to what was going on outside. He stared at the door intently, though, daring any one of them to come smashing in, accusing Charles of lying and Raven of . . . whatever made them feel anger and hurt when they passed by her room, or saw one of her free weights laying wherever she had left them.

Hank, he knew, had it quite rough when she left.

When he deemed them far enough away from the room, he looked back to Raven, who was now wrapped in a soft, white blanket that had been laying over the back of the chair.

She was also in her natural form, which didn't surprise him at all.

She was clutching the blanket to her chest, the white fabric clashing against her blue lips as they trembled just a hairline above the seams.

"That was a low blow, Charles, especially for you." she said quietly, staring at him with hurt, yellow eyes.

He narrowed his eyes and gave her a pointed look. He did not really understand what she meant, nor did he understand the hurt that she was (obviously purposely) projecting towards him.

He cocked his head to the side. "What are you talking about?" he asked her quietly.

She scoffed. "Having 'your boys'," She sounded utterly disgusted. " _Escort me to you!"_ She all but shouted.

He raised an eyebrow, determine to stay calm. "I could have had you _escorted out._ You should be grateful that I didn't just enter your mind at the edge of my property and told you that you never had been here at all."

It hadn't been a thought in his mind to say it, but when it was said, he was surprised at how serious he sounded.

He was threating to erase her entire childhood and he didn't sound, for a moment, like he would hesitate.

She gapsed. "You would never!"

He crossed his arms and threw his novel onto the coffee table. "Would I ever have to?" He asks her, a pathetic, but still reasonable attempt at deflection. "Honestly, Raven, would I ever _have_ to think about it?"

She gave him a frightened look. "I thought you _wanted_ me to go. You said--"

He pinched the bridge of his nose. "I know what I said and I meant it. You'll always be my sister and I'll always love you." Relief spread through her, but her anxiety wasn't depleted. "But still, I don't know what you and your people have in mind. For all I know, you all consider us your enemy and have us on a nuclear list."

A tear slid from her eye and she quickly stood, throwing the blanket off of her and letting it softly pool at her feet. "If you can't trust _me_ ," she hissed in a low, dangerous tone. "You should at least know that _Erik_ would never--"

"I don't know what _Erik_ would do!" He didn't bother not shouting. He regretted that he could not stand as well and hoped that she wouldn't notice; knowing that she already was.

Erik's promise was echoing in the back of Charles's mind.

His logical side, for the umpteenth time in five months, argued that Erik would never be _able_ to come back for him and take him away (what with the boys being so protective). But then, he thinks, why would he _want to_? He wouldn't go that far just for a telepath; not when he already had one. Especially when he knew Charles would never work for him.

So why would he want Charles?

He shook his head.  "Honestly, how can you expect me to know what Erik would do?"

"I expect it because you don't know." she replied, not skipping a beat.

He shook his head, wishing his long-cold tea was a nice cup of brandy. "Raven, what are you talking about?"

She smiled, lowering herself back down into the chair. "You could have just pried my mind open as soon as you knew it was me -- even before. However, you did not."

The same eyebrow raised, almost to Charles's forehead. He's irritated by her smugness, just like he had been when they were children and she knew that she was going to win at a board game.

"Who's to say that I didn't?" He retorted. "You may not know me as well as you think you do. You haven't talked to me or seen me in months. I could have been dead, for all you knew."

She flinched at that. It's a mockery, really, he thinks. He's trying his best to keep her from figuring out that something isn't right, and yet he's hinting at every possible outcome fo her absence.

He is so _bitter_.

She looks to the ground, but then her eyebrows shoot up in wonder. She gets up from her slouched position in the chair and takes a hesitant step. The look on her face makes him want to reach into her mind.

"C-Charles?" She whispers, clearly terrified. Her eyes flit from the floor to his blanket-covered--

Oh shit.

His mouth opens and closes several times. "R-Raven, I just--"

But she's already on her knees, reaching under the couch and tugging on something heavy and partially metal when he thinks of something semi-intelligible to say.

He decides not to look at her, and instead decides to look out a purple triangle.

He _could_ wipe it from her mind. Tell her she saw nothing and to sit down and that they worked out everything bad and they are best friends. Hell, if he wanted to, he could wipe everything for just ten minutes so they could pretend that they're kids again and play some sort of game and laugh and not think about his useless legs or that, if there were to be a war, they might be fighting on two different sides.

"Charles, what the _hell_ is this?" she whispered.

He could barely manage to unlock his jaw and disconnect his teeth. "It's a wheelchair, Raven." He quickly offered, still not looking at her.

She inhales raggedly, sheer panic and anticipation rolls off of her like a fog. "And _who_ is it for, Charles?"

"The bullet," He began the cynical rehearsal of the doctor's mantra that had _also_ haunted him for the last five months. "Hit the base of my spinal cord." He didn't mean to sound so depressing. "The injury is unique: I can twist my upper body and the tops of my thighs are completely fine, but anything below is--"

He finally looked up to her.

Soundless tears flowed down her face and down her neck. She looked so heart-broken, it hurt him.

"Y-You can't walk?" she asked, her chest heaved a little but her voice was steady.

He shook his head. "Or run or crawl or swim properly." He adds. "I've started to get the hang of crawling, though, since I can force my legs forward." He felt his own hot tears flow slowly down.

There aren't many, but he's never had to explain it to someone. Until then, he's always been able to just nod and smile and mutter a question or two to seem interested. He supposed it was like taking a test in a class you knew everything about but never listened to.

Her arms were thrown around his waist so quickly, he could hardly process it until her heaving chest was barreling into his thigh over and over again.

Immediately, he started cooing and whispering and rubbing circles into her back.

"Oh my God!" She sobbed. "I'm so . . . so . . . so sorry!" She cried, loud and broken. "I can't believe we left you! _Why would you let us leave you?"_ Her voice -- distraught and hysteric -- was muffled by his pajama pant leg.

He leaned down and kissed the top of her head. "Hush now, Raven." He murmured gently. "You didn't know." And as much as he meant it, it killed him to say, "You didn't do anything wrong." 

But she was only getting more and more worked up, clutching at his useless legs. It almost seemed as though she believed that the harder she held on, the more feeling would come back.

"Raven!" She was only taking shallow, ragged breaths in between bellowing sobs as he tried to help her. "Raven, darling, calm down. Please."

She took a deep, ragged breath in and exhaled slowly, almost like a sigh. Slowly, she pulled away from him and rolled on her heels, staring up at him with bright, yellow eyes. "You've got to let me tell him." she said in a stubborn voice, thick from crying.

A look of pure horror flashed across Charles's face. "You can't, Raven." he said, reaching forward to grip her upper arm; firmly, but not too violent. (He didn't want to make being manhandled in her childhood home a routine for his little sister.) "Ever." He added, trying to make her see without letting her _see_ what would more than possibly happen if The News got around to Erik.

But then again . . .

Maybe Erik  _did_ just want him for work. Because: Why else would he need _Charles_ by his side? Why else would he ever need Charles for anything other than to help him with his abilities? True, Erik didn't . . . appreciate anyone else using their abilities on him (especially Charles), but when it came to something that Erik _wanted_ , Charles knew that he'd put that phobia aside. Without a second thought, Erik would probably threaten people's lives if he wasn't obeyed.

But then _again_ . . .

Erik wouldn't need a telepath (an unwilling, powerful one at that) to enact any of his plans of . . . whatever. He already had one. That Frost woman had gone with him, hadn't she? And even if she had left him, Erik wouldn't need Charles. He especially wouldn't need him if he was a cripple.

But Charles knew (a small, naïve part of him knew, at least) that he really didn't want Erik to know because of the guilt. Erik's guilt had hit him like a tidal wave at the beach, even with the helmet on. When he was lain, strewn in the sand, all Erik had been thinking was:

_Not Charles . . . So stupid . . . Ruin everything I touch . . . Not Charles_

So just imagining how he would react to this . . .

It was Raven's voice that interrupted him. "Not tell him ever . . . ? And then what, Charles? Do you think he's not going to find out? He knows I'm here and he knows you're hiding. He'll put two and two together that something's up and come and look for himself."

Charles shivered a little.

Had Erik been _watching_ him? 

Charles's mental radius had expanded so far after his couple of sessions with Cerebro. If he tried hard enough -- without the machine -- he could reach the border of Maine from Westchester. Saying that, he hadn't felt any new minds or thoughts really coming from anywhere near the grounds. Even if someone had been sent to watch him from a slight distance, he would be able to at least _feel_ them tugging at the back of his mind.

He closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Raven, just . . . give me time. I'm not all used to this myself."

She stood slowly and then backed into her previous seating arrangement; knees pulled to her chest and blanket held around her like she was in shock.

Come to think of it, with what was being said now, she actually could be. He wasn't _listening_ ; he didn't know.

"You want me to give you _time_?" She asked him in a voice that made the question obviously rhetorical. He still nodded anyways. "Charles, you're asking for time you may not _have_." She raised an eyebrow at his dejected look. "How long do you think he's going to wait -- no word from or about you, mind -- until he makes good on his little promise?"

Charles's head snapped up in a way that could not be good for his neck, and stared at her wide eyed like she was The Holy Second Coming. "How do you know about that?"

He wanted to read her. He wanted to stop with this little chit-chat and simply dive into her mind. Partly because he missed it, and partly to see what she was talking about; so he could see with his own, unbiased eyes what had really been happening.

It was like a deep purple room, Raven's mind, filled with things and words to make him laugh and smile. Childish reasoning's and good conversations. A deep sense of self and a reasonable philosophy to live by. It was plush and bold and vivid.

That was Raven's _usual_ mind. A good mind.

Now, however, he didn't know what she may have been thinking or if Frost would have had taught her tricks to keep him out.

He didn't want to risk it.

She bit her lip. "Emma told me. We're really good friends, Charles. One night, we got really drunk at some bar and when we arrived back to where we were staying, Erik was asleep and didn't have the helmet on. Erik doesn't wear the helmet to bed, usually, so she crept in, on a dare." She stood and smoothed her jacket.

"He dreams about it Charles; often apparently. It wasn't empty words he gave you. He will come back, and judging by how it is back there, it will be soon."

He nodded stiffly, trying to take this all in and not open the floodgate of questions battling the cages of his reasonable mind.

He sighed. "Did you come here to warn me then?"

She shook her head and smiled sadly, her eyes flitting between him and the door. "Is it so hard to believe that I missed my big brother?"

He smiled up at her with the same sorrowful expression. "I suppose not so much so, no." He opened his arms, feeling a pang at the fact he couldn't _stand up_ to hug her good-bye. She quickly collapsed into his arms, squeezing him like he was holding onto her: trying to remember everything.

"You don't hate me, do you?" she whispered into his shoulder.

He laughed humorlessly. "Of course not, Raven. If I did, would I have let you back in here?"

They both laughed, both of them battling tears. "I suppose not."

There was a long silence.

Raven pulled back first and held his head in her hands. "I promise to write you. For as long as I can. I'll try and have Azazel drop them off in your room or here every weekend." She forced him to look her straight in the eye throughout her whole explanation. "We're a little . . . unadjusted back there, but he won't mind. I actually think he's quite bored."

They shared a laugh.

"What's that saying about a teleporter bored with the white picket fence?"

But she was stone-faced. "I want you to be careful. I know he won't tell me when he's planning on getting you, so I won't be able to warn you."

He nodded, his mouth at a neutral line. "I'm not afraid of him. I don't think he'll be able to get me."

Raven shook her head. "Charles, you don't understand. He's desperate--"

"I don't care what he is Raven." Charles interrupted. "He could be a king, for all I care. I'm not going willingly, nor am I going silently."

Raven nodded.

This was obviously an impasse.

He sighed and put hands on her shoulders. "Don't you worry your pretty, blue head about it." She chuckled, looking down. "Everything will work out alright. I promise. Okay?"

She nodded, biting her bottom lip.

He kissed her forehead. "You stay safe, alright? I love you. You're always welcomed here."

She just nodded.

In a flurry of more tears, more words of soft, desperate affection, blue and red, Raven was gone.

It was late afternoon when the boys resurfaced from the lab.

They flooded in quickly into the observatory.

"Professor, who was that?" Sean had been the first one to ask.

He always had been a slow boy.

Hank, from the screwed up look on his face, had already figured out it was Raven. (There was a quick flash of beige and blue and orange hair in his mind, a sleek form trotting up the stairs.)

Charles only smiled and turned the last page of Gatsby, finding Nick's 'And so we beat on . . .' speech a bit ironic.

"Oh," he drawled. "Just an old friend come to give me some peculiar news. Nothing to think of." _Yet,_ He so badly wanted to had, because he figured if anyone needed a warning on about what was about to happen, it was the boys.

 


	3. Chapter Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He didn't want to do it. It was sneaky, deceptive, and almost disloyal. It didn't fit his style, but it had to be done.
> 
> Or, Emma and Erik have a meeting and violence does not go with Erik's turtleneck.

**_Erik_ **   
  


_He didn't_ want _to do it. It was sneaky, deceptive, and almost disloyal. It didn't fit his style, but it had to be done._

He took her coat when she got back.

"How was your trip?" He asked her, storing the jacket in the front closet.

She shrugged, stretching her limbs. "It went alright. I found what I was looking for, and he was civil."

But she wasn't looking at him.

See, Erik knew Raven's loyalties laid with her brother. She was a team player, no doubt, but in the end, she'd lay down her life just to see Charles happy. It was, after all, him who had to finally convince her to join his side in the end. His approval meant most to her.

That was the way little siblings acted, and of course Raven was no exception to this.

This being said, Erik knew Raven would lie for Charles. It wasn't a character flaw, per se, just very inconvenient for him. He knew she wouldn't tell him what he _wanted_ to know and the more mundane she made her little visit sound, the more he knew she was hiding from him.

Charles was, after all, never _mundane_.

There was silence as he led her to the balcony, and when they got there, he noticed Raven looking every which way.

So she _had_ learned.

"Where's Emma?" She asked quietly, settling in the chair opposite of Erik's.

Her smirked. "So eager to get back to your friends?" But she continued to stare narrowly at him, so he added, "She's somewhere in the water with Janos. If I didn't know that they knew any better, I'd say they were creating hurricanes on the coast again."

The both grimaced, Raven remembering Erik's reprimand of the two, and Erik remembering the week of taking Emma around to eradicate the memories.

"Because that went _so well_ the last time." Raven remarked bitterly, turning her narrow gaze on the horizon. She was probably still looking for Frost, but little did she know, she was looking in the wrong direction.

The sun was almost setting and, Erik thought, if it wasn't such a tension-filled, hostile environment, it would be a beautiful sight.

"So your trip then," he brought back, feeding Frost all the deer-in-headlights flashbacks he could. (Erik knew Raven had a way of keeping Telepaths at bay.) "Tell me, what _exactly_ were you looking for?"

Raven's jaw tightened. "Nothing in particular. Charles is well, if _that's_ what you want to know."

Erik winced, but didn't give into her jab. "I'm sure he is. I'm assuming Moira is hanging off of his arm at every given moment."

Her eyebrows furrowed. "Actually, she wasn't there. Charles didn't mention her and I didn't ask."

Erik nodded.

Silence fell again.

"Do you have to?" Raven asked suddenly, sitting up in her lounge chair and staring at him curiously.

Erik raised an eyebrow. "Do what?"

"Do you have to 'get' him? I mean, really? Is it really so important that--"

"You would do well to take note from your fellow _teammates_ , Raven, and not question me. Just because you're Charles's sister does not mean that you are hierarchy." Erik snapped. Because, _honestly_ , he couldn't just answer these questions.

Raven stiffened her jaw and stood. "So Charles is," Raven paused, slinking towards the doorway with a mocking, yet disgusted, smirk on her face. "What? A work mule? A precious horse that you saw on the market and just, what, decided that, if you can't have it, you'll take it from the carpet."

Erik was near grounding his teeth out. "You ought to be careful about what you say, Raven. Maybe you'll be just the trade."

Her face turned an odd shade of heated purple, but she didn't say anything for a minute. She swung the sliding door open violently. "I just hope you're better prepared when you get there."

But before Erik could ask her -- begrudgingly -- what she was talking about, she slammed the door closed, obviously putting her body on the other side.

 

/

 

"I _do_ wish that you wouldn't wear that thing. It messes up your 'sexy boss' mojo." Frost dabbed at her lips, which seemed plastered with maroon face paint, as she gestured to Erik's helmet.

Lipstick, Erik remembered it being called.

He grimaced. "You know as well as I do that you wouldn't be able to help yourself, Ms. Frost, if I didn't."

She nodded with an icy smile on her lips. "Touché." She sighed. "Now, what is it that you think you were missing, boss?"

Erik chuckled. "In such a hurry this evening. Usually I can't keep you from pestering me."

A polite, plastic smile. "Well, Mystique wanted to see me this evening and she was quite obvious about not wanting much of a delay."

Erik's eyebrows shot up in genuine surprise. "I didn't know that you were--"

She frowned in an almost disappointed way. "We're not." But then a smirk crept back onto her face. "At least, not yet. No, I've given her time and space and privacy to make up her own mind."

A grimace found its way upon Erik's face again.

He wished he could say the same about Charles.

"I didn't know you were so kind." He bit.

She chuckled, mockingly. "Oh honey, every Telepath is generous. We have to be. Take note, sugar: Every Telepaths a more than willing to give privacy. We _have_ heard it all before, after all."

Erik raised an eyebrow. "Why are _you_ telling _me_ this?"

"Just some tips for the future." she sighed tiredly, twisting the straw of her small drink around in a circle beside her. "How do you think any of us would have made it through our childhoods without a method? Even if you're born to another mutant - which is such a rare thing, as you know - being a Telepath isn't something great, or good at first. You go through young life with voices in your head that, if you mention, people go red in the face and call you a liar.

"Imagine being a teenage girl and having someone tell you your blouse is nice. Meanwhile, in your head, you can hear them whisper the worst things about you. You don't tell anyone, because you don't _want_ to be a freak. That's what they think about you all the while anyways, though. You can't help but put up walls and create methods to keep people quiet. And then when someone _asks_ to be shut out . . . Honey, it's a blessing."

And she said it with all the passion, but her face showed nothing.

"Touching." Erik quipped, surprised at her sincerity. "But _why_ are you telling me this?" Erik pushed, trying to get to the point as much as she was. (Or had been.)

"Raven's good at keeping me out." Frost continued, as if Erik had never even spoken. "I do try not to pry. Mainly because I don't think it helps me 'win her over', but sometimes projections happen and . . . well . . . I'm sure you know how that all works." Erik just nodded. "Anyways, other times, she's got good walls kept up. I assume she's had them like that for a while. Your Telepath, I presume, has taught her the lustrous ways of Keeping Unwanted Guests Out.

"Now, with that being said, at the times she does let me in, I like to soak up what I can get." She gave him a half, nonchalant shrug at Erik's raised eyebrow. "Her mind is more sexy to me than anything else, after all. But, the point is, when I do 'see' what's really in there, there's nothing."

She took a sip and he tried to understand.

"Are you calling her stupid?" he asked, genuinely confused.

Frost choked, nearly spitting out her drink. "Of course not!" She sighed, put a hand on her chest, and sat her drink back down. "Okay. Revision:

"So, let's say you spent your life wearing _real_ gold, and _real_ fur, and _real_ silk, and drinking _quality_ wine. Do you think you'd be able to tell the difference when it was all switched out to something fake? That your hands wouldn't green from just _touching_ the fake, gold paint of the dollar store rings; that your skin wouldn't pink and itch from the thrift store threads; that your tounge wouldn't shy from the corner store labels?

"Now that you've got that picture in your mind, think of a Telepath. One who's had to train themselves. Sloppy, but observant. Been a thousand places, seen a million minds. Don't you think that _that_ Telepath would be able to tell the difference between a real memory and a fake one?"

Erik was beginning to like Ms. Frost more and more by the minute. Mutely, he nodded in response to her question.

"That's what I mean. Your Telepath has her wiped. There was some dark stuff there, too." And you could tell she was forcing herself to remain nonchalant because her jaw was tensing.

Erik's eyebrows furrowed. "How can you tell it's not just a wall? A diversion?"

She smiled. "I've had a shameless, adorning crush on her for five months. Do you think I would be anything but perfectly thorough every time she let me in?"

That was a bit much for the moment, but he understood.

That didn't mean that he believed.

But she continued, not betraying her inner-opinions of whether he believed her or not.

"It's like being in a forest with fake grass after a wildfire. There's darkness and charred pieces there but it's all subconscious. More-so than anything else, something happened long ago that he probably didn't want her to remember."

"How do you know it was so long ago?" Erik was more than believing now, trying to recall what Charles had said before about, 'knowing what you've been through'.

Maybe he knew more that Erik thought.

"Because your Telepath brought down an entire Russian guard base with two fingers at his temples and his mind. This work is sloppy and quick, but I _do_ know it's your Telepath. Trust me on this."

" _How_ do you _know_ it was him?" He didn't want to jump to conclusions. This woman was accusing Charles of rearranging Raven's entire childhood. Charles: a man who would apologize for a day if he even _peeked_ into your mind without permission.

Why would he ever have to be so desperate?

She sighed, obviously exasperated with all of the metaphors and analogies she had to come up with. "Just as each mind is different, each Telepath is different. They have a different way of going about their work and how it stands. Her memories are merely illusions. Same kind of illusions I gave the general back in Russia six months ago, only stronger.

"Think of the Telepath like an artist. He made these 'memories' when he was very young and unskilled. He was probably going through puberty or something. It wouldn't surprise me; I remember my own pubescent years." She took a sip. "They are the bane of the untrained mutant. Same goes for your Telepath."

He was beginning to hate the use of ' _your Telepath'_ in Ms. Frost's vocabulary. As much as it . . . sparked something in him (nothing akin to pride or the thought of: _Damn straight he's mine you bitch._ Because he would never think like that.)

"It still doesn't convince me as to _why_ he would do something like that." Erik stated, not really having any idea where she was trying to steer him.

She huffed and shrugged. "I have no idea. I'm just giving you direction. Something to maybe _ask him_ about when he . . . arrives."

Erik nodded stiffly. "What did you find out today?"

A twinkle left her eye and the smirk left her features. "Nothing that I think you'd want to know."

Erik sneered. "Luckily, Ms. Frost, this assignment wasn't meant for you to _think_ , and more so for you to _do_. If I must, I'll pull Mystique aside myself to get the information that I require. I asked you because I figured it was the most painless way for her."

Her eyes widened a fraction for a moment, but then she adopted her passive look once more. "You wouldn't touch a hair on her head if your life depended on it." she stated calmly.

He smirked. "I think you underestimate the things I would do to get what I desire."

Her jaw visibly tightened. "He wouldn't want you to. He'd hate you."

Erik's insides tightened at her words and a voice inside his mind whispered, _Doesn't he already?_ Erik leaned forward. " _He_ isn't here." He leant back and folded his hands in his lap. "Now, are we going to do this the easy way, or the hard way? I can assure you, Ms. Frost, as long as I get what I please, I don't care how I get it."

Her lower lip stiffened. "There's no need to get so riled up, boss." she smiled. "Violence doesn't go with that shabby turtleneck you're wearing."

He glared. "You're wasting time again, Frost."

She grimaced. "The remnants of your rag tag team is great. She thought about the beastly boy with despair, but he's fine. The banshee is fine too, if not looking a bit ruff. The pyro . . . I do believe he is quite a pet to your _Professor_. At his beck-and-call; you should watch that."

Erik rolled his eyes. He thought that Beast would turn into the motherly-matron once he left. Alex had never been the affectionate type. (He had laughed as hard as Erik when Sean fell from the second story window.)

"Charles, Frost. It's Charles that I'm aiming for here." He said pointedly.

She huffed. "So cold to your little . . . soldiers." He growled. "Alright, alright! He's alright, I believe. Healthy enough at least."

Erik quirked an eyebrow. "Quit being coy, Frost, it doesn't suit you. What are you dancing around?" And as hard as he tried, he couldn't sound angry. His palms were sweating and his skin felt clammy. He could hear his heartbeat strong and fast in his ears.

She had something hiding up her sleeve that would tear him down; he knew it.

She bit her lip. "He's not exactly . . . mobile, per se."

"What are you talking about?" he hissed.

"Well," she started, squirming a little in her seat. "You didn't give me much to work with, boss. But when you mentioned what she was looking for, she flashed a picture- Two pictures, in fact. One of him sitting peaceably on a sofa with a blanket draped around him and one of a sleek, folded chair."

Erik calmed a little, but his stomach still felt distended. "Go on."

"A wheelchair. She didn't think much on it but-"

Erik had stopped listening.

Erik had stopped moving; breathing; _knowing_.

He felt shock first. (Denial, really.) 

Wheelchair and Charles didn't belong in the same sentence. When had they ever? He didn't know anyone in a wheelchair and no one there had ever needed one. Why would Charles ever--

And then it hit him.

His back pocket was suddenly vibrating with energy and felt like ten tons. He didn't think he'd be able get back up with the weight of it, though he knew, in reality, that it was only some milligrams heavy.

A bullet. _The_ bullet.

He knew people could get paralyzed like that. He had never thought of it like that, but he knew it was possible. Hell, he had seen it before. It funny, almost, because Shaw had shot a prisoner once in front of him (another practice for Erik in his youth which was meant for him to deflect the bullet) which had paralyzed the man. The base of his spine had been penetrated with the small flash of the round bullet and had rendered the prisoner without feeling in his legs.

Another shot to the head, and the man was dead.

But he had shot Charles in the hip, hadn't he? Or in the upper back? (Because it had been Erik who had _really_ shot Charles.)

Then, somewhere between blinding anger and bleeding, painful, sorrow gripped Erik and gripped him good. Somehow, he had bit out to Frost a 'get out' -- which she must have done, because when he had reached for the bottle of bourbon or whiskey and forced the door locked, she had been gone -- and from the first drink, he was gone.

 

/

 

Emma Frost had not been surprised when she woke up -- after her own rambunctious night with Raven -- to find Lensherr's study a wreck.

She had sent Azazel and Janos on their own adventures before her little meeting with the boss, saying Erik had an assignment for them or that there was an important client to see. Something that got them away. She knew they weren't sure of this story and would probably be back by noon the next day, but they needed the break and left anyways.

Raven had wanted to meet outside of the house in a cabin not but two miles away from the safe-house for their little 'discussion' (which later turned into something obviously more than a discussion) so that, Emma figured, made everything so much more convenient than she had anticipated.

She woke up at dawn to go and check on her boss who had, to her knowledge, (he had threw the helmet off sometime after his fourth drink) demolished the once pristine room. She left a sleeping, blanket-covered, naked Raven with a kiss on her forehead and a note that told her to stay in bed and that she would be back soon.

A great way to start her day, in Emma's opinion.   

She came into the house, high heels, clean, white trench coat on, ready for almost anything.

Well, anything except for what was there.

Then entire house was a wreck, getting worse, she noted, as she got closer to Erik's study, where she could still hear noise. Forks, spoons, ladles, whisks, knives-- butter and steak -- and pots and pans were strewn about the room. Some penetrating the drywall of the kitchen. The fridge was . . . more of a square than a rectangle, and the sink was gone altogether.

She sighed, moving onto the parlor and sitting room.

When she got there, she found the sink, along with a gaping hole in the wall opposite of the couch. The lamps were crooked and bookshelves were knocked over. The recliner was tipped over, which was probably the least damage he had done to anything else in the room.

She almost felt like commending him.

From there, she headed closer to his study, which looked like a metal bomb had exploded. The silver substance coated an meshed with the walls.

The door was covered in it, but she pushed it none the less, using a bit of her diamond form for help in carving out a door.

He was still throwing things around, a long, thin bottle in his hand.

He took a long pull, breathing shallowly. "What are you doing here? Shouldn't you be plotting the rest of my downfall?" he bit out between breaths.

The room looked chrome. Futuristic and dangerous. The metallic smell was almost overwhelming, but she didn't flinch.

She swallowed. "Well, while it is such an entertaining past-time when I have a moment to spare, I thought I'd take time away from my previous business to check up on you."

She looked behind her to where a wooden chair used to sit and found it covered in the metallic-y substance. Nevertheless, she dusted off some glass and sat down.

Erik raised his bottle as if to take another drag, but finding that it was empty, he threw against the wall opposite of Emma.

"Charming." He yelled, dizzily climbing the once-wooden desk. He began jumping up and down on it. "How thoughtful of you!"

He jumped down, swayed a bit, before falling to the ground. She rushed over to him, putting her now-diamond hands on his shoulders.

"Boss--"

"You know, I ruin everything I touch?" He flashed her a broken, shark-like grin. "Take a look. Everything I've thought about with the slightest affection is gone." He slurred. "Everything!" He slumped against her.

And even though she was cold and unempathetic when it came to everything but Raven and fellow mutants; even though her diamond form was sharp enough to cut metal and empty enough to let her run a 5k in twenty minutes; even though she had never tried to be anything but what Shaw made her into, he heart broke a little at the man leaning into her.

And even though she didn't know what to say in this situation, she simply carded a hand through his hair and laid his head in her lap, shushing him at every attempt he made to stop her.

"It's alright, _Erik_ , we'll get him. He's fine. He'll be happy. I promise."

And boy, did she hope that that was true. For _all_ of their holy sake's.


	4. Chapter Four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things were as tense in the Xavier mansion for the next week as it was in the with the rag-tag group of the newborn Brotherhood.

_**Third Point of View** _

__

_Things were as tense in the Xavier mansion for the next week as it was in the with the rag-tag group of the newborn Brotherhood._

_Alex kept a more watchful eye on Charles after Raven's little visit. He followed him around almost everywhere, like a shadow. He demanded that Charles accompany him outside on his morning runs and that he return to observing him with his training._

_Charles really didn't mind this. Despite_ _what Hank had argued, it had been doing him good to be so mobile. All the work he was doing with the manual chair as opposed to the electric Hank had made him was gaining him muscle and toning him more. It was very beneficial, and the company was good. He got to teach -- in a way -- again, and he got to have freedom._

_Alex's new-found attachment came in particular handy when the boys sat him down the night after Raven left._

_He knew that the boys were scheming around to get all the information out of him that they could about the visit, and he didn't try to stop them. As petulant as the threat was that Raven had warned him about was, it was still something they deserved to know._

_He just didn't know how he could explain it to three traumatized boys_.

_Meanwhile, Erik was having a difficult time with Emma's information._

_If anything, this was speeding up his little plan to get Charles by his side again. For one thing, he had to see for himself what the hell was going on, because for all he knew, Frost could have been lying to him cold. Logically, he didn't see a reason why she would, but it was better than believing that Charles . . . that he made Charles . . . That he_ **_hurt_ ** _Charles._

_And the_ **_want_ ** _was becoming a bit much. The pure self-loathing and aching that came with Charles's absence had not been planned when he left or something that had been anticipated, but now that it was here, he just wanted it gone. He wanted to wash it away, but he found that even the hottest shower that scorched his skin or the icy of ones that made him feel like he was back Russia._   
  


**_Charles_ **   
  


Charles had gotten up much earlier and prepared for the day, locking the door as to not be disturbed. He could _hear_ them all mentally prepare their questions on the first floor of the mansion.

Sean, surprisingly, was the most nervous of them all. He and Charles weren't particularly close and he had always been sort of an outsider. He wasn't very sociable with people older than him; something commonly found in normal teenagers. He didn't know what was too awkward to ask and he didn't know what was off limits.

He was just lost.

Hank was more confident of himself. He was still a very shy boy. Even in his more intimidating suit of skin, he thought cowardly at the thought of confrontation. He was so desperate for acceptance in his new form, which he had found undoubtedly with Sean, Alex, and Charles. He and Charles were close, more than likely due to his constant seeing of him.

He didn't want to upset any of those relationships.

His questions were logical, and they each had a plan. Most of them were in a string; a chain. He had planned on a certain series following itself: this question followed by answer A or answer B followed by sub answer A, B, C, or D per first answer, and so on. It could have been made into an essay.

Alex was . . . undecided.

He had quite the façade going, but he was genuinely curious. At the same time, he respected his mentor's privacy and space. He didn't want to overstep himself or something equally detrimental. He just wanted to know whatever seemed available.

He was also pretty confident Hank would ask all the intelligent questions.

"So who's going to start?" Charles thought it was sad, the ten minutes of dead silence at the dinner table that night. The boys were at a loss of what to say and the confusion and awkward was almost overwhelming for Charles and he just couldn't take it.

"Professor?" was asked with complete innocent and slight fear. Hank was apparently feeling brave deep inside, being the first one to open his mouth and all.

Charles sighed. "You don't have to be afraid of asking me anything. Ask me what you please, don't think I'll be offended. I'll try to answer as honestly as I can, I promise."

Hank swallowed and looked at Sean (who clearly gave him a look of pure hilarity, obviously enjoying this as much as the children had enjoyed him falling out of a two story window) and Alex (who clearly gave him a look that said, _you're on your own_ ) but finding now support, he cleared his throat.

"So that _was_ Raven, yesterday?" He asked nervously.

Charles nodded. "She came in peace. I could feel her presence at the edge of the estate."

Hank pursed his lips. "Why did you have Alex 'lead us to the destined location' if she came in peace?"

Charles smiled sheepishly. "I figured her presence would not be taken to so well." He winced ay Hank's bubbling anger that he was projecting and the slight hologram in his mind of the two kissing back at the CIA lab. "Seems that I was right."

"Still," Sean cut in, leaning back a bit too arrogantly on his chair, slinging an arm over the side. "Doesn't really constitute you having us be locked up like children while the _adults_ hashed it out. We did help stop a war, after all. I think we could have handled a civil discussion."

Charles nodded. Sean did have a point, but Charles had logic. Raven's safety was more than insured because the boys had been out of the room. He wasn't planning on taking back anything from his course of action.

"While I'm know that your self-control is substantial compared to your age, I believe that what I did was right. I trust you boys with my life, but we all know that you each have your own specific temperament."

"What if she would have hurt you? We were levels below; we couldn't have gotten to you in time." Sean countered.

Charles smiled sadly. "I told you: she came here in peace. She had no intentions of violence or hurt. Things may not have transpired that was, but it started off pure."

This time, Alex raised an eyebrow and crossed his arms. "What do you mean 'started off'?"

Charles sighed. "While Raven was here, she informed me of a plan Erik and his Brotherhood are forming."

Hank moved in with logic and pure strategy.

"Did she find out you were--?"

Charles looked away for a moment.

He figured this would have been asked once they figured out Raven had arrived. When it had been diagnosed, one of the first things he wanted to do is tell Raven. When he hadn't gotten to do it, it felt like he was hiding from her; like there was this big secret that he didn't want to keep from her. And it was, in a way, a secret. Even though they knew it was only a matter of time before Erik's Brotherhood figured out Charles's . . . disability, it was something they protected and defended like it was a member of their group.

"She did." was all he could manage. He wanted to laugh. The boys had gotten all prepared for this and now Charles -- the genetics professor genius -- had no idea what to say.

The boys all looked down.

"She wasn't very . . . happy about it. But she promised to . . ." What had she promised? Nothing. She had promised him time that he may not have, as she said so herself, but she had never promised not to tell Erik.

But Charles knew. He knew she wouldn't. He had filled her head with false memories of their childhood (unbeknownst to her of course) but he knew her and she loved him and trusted whatever he had in store.

"She promised to what, professor?" Sean asked softly.

He threw a hand through his hair.

They deserved honesty and he didn't know how to lie to them about something like this.

"When I asked her to not tell Erik about the fact that I'm paralyzed," They winced, but he continued, not seeing room for sugarcoating anything. "She said he was planning on coming to get me. She said that she couldn't--"

"What the hell!"

Charles's head snapped to look at whoever had had the outburst, but found that the echo's resonance pointed to all three of the boys's voices having been the speaker.

"She said that I was asking for time that I may not have."

But they were far too gone in their own thoughts to be concerned with whatever it was that Charles thought was going to comfort them.

Instantly going over defensive (and slightly offensive) plans (because Erik hadn't actually enacted anything he may have in store for the gang) in his head to defend Charles, Alex was fuming to his left. He almost regretted taking the seat closest to the young pyro. Charles knew he would take the information particularly hard, considering there hasn't been much in his life that hasn't been taken away from him.

Alex's vision of splitting Erik six different was with one of his rings -- although he winced slightly -- didn't surprise Charles.

Alex's mind was very . . . complicated. The color it reminded him of was browns and deep reds. There was a lot of passion and hurt, but not in a chaotic way.

It wasn't a little odd to be in Alex's mind, for some reason. Charles wasn't able to just slink in and sit quietly. There was too much going on. There was too much there that Charles could never brace himself for, but it was also very solitary. A single thought could bring out a lot of different things in Alex.

Or, in other words, sometimes it was like being by a steady campfire, while other times, it was like an inferno.

Hank was thinking how he always thought: methodically. Playing out all the results of all different scenarios.

He was thinking of ways to hide Charles and ways to secure the grounds. His utmost though (one that made Charles blush): _What on Earth were the Professor and Erik_ ** _doing_** _before he left?_

Seeing that he caused the Professor to pink, Hank sent a small smile of apology to Charles.

Hank's mind was very organized, much like the boy himself. His mind was full of logic and there wasn't much room for imagination. Only the facts. If there had to be a color for his mind it would probably be light blue or white. It felt solid and sterile, like a doctor's office. And if he had to describe a _smell_ for it, it would be eucalyptus and mint. It wasn't a hard place to be in exactly, but it did make him uncomfortable. He was too awkward and a bit self-righteous.

There was none of the hidden honesty and pure humanity that Charles usually adored in the minds of other people.

Sean wasn't too focused on the new information or any bad outcomes. Of course he was surprised, but he didn't see why they were taking it so wrongly. He was a bit astonished about how much things had changed.

So predictable.

Charles could give him credit, though, on one thing: the kid was observant. He wasn't thinking of battle plans or hiding out or wanting to rip anyone's throat out and, instead, was actually using his brain to dissect the situation.

First, he studied Erik.

Erik who obviously had some background issues with the 'Nazi-Ass named Shaw or Schmidt' -- in Sean's words -- probably hadn't gotten to keep much in his life. Sean had studied Nazi's and Nazi 'doctors' in school and he knew they weren't the best people. Almost the absolute worst there was. So, adding that to his observation, Sean could draw that he had probably never had a friend when he was younger, making Charles his first and only probably.

So why would he want to _let that go_?

Sure, it wasn't sane in nay way to kidnap someone, but he could see why Erik would and that was the whole reason why he was thinking about it in the first place: to find Erik's state of mind.

Charles was about to interrupt Sean's train of thought, when Sean instantly continued with another theory. One very short lived that came with an image that had Charles nearly doubling over in his chair:

_What if he needed him? I mean, sure, Magneto doesn't seem like the huggy-bear type and I'm sure he especially isn't after the beach. (He did shoot his best friend after all.) But what if he needs Charles? What if he like . . ._ **_really needs_ ** **_him_ ** _?_

Charles cleared his throat. "Boys, take the news how you will. If you have any questions or further concerns, please save them for breakfast after coffee is served. I'll be retiring now."

And he quickly wheeled away before they could protest or send any messages after him, though he could feel Alex trying.

Despite what he said, he knew there would be no 'retiring'; only him hiding in his room while the boys whispered and shared theories on the floor below him.

_It was him and Erik. He didn't remember it well. It was sometime after they had helped Sean 'fly' and they had all decided to eat outside. "In celebration of the maniac pushing the ginger off of the satellite dish?" Raven had offered as explanation when Charles had questioned the arrival of pizza and old picnic tables._

_The picture was of Charles and Erik. Erik had pulled Charles aside to talk about this and that in the garden not too far away from the children. They must have been speaking of something pleasant because Charles was smiling and laughing._

_But the picture -- specifically in Sean's mind -- was of Charles throwing his head back, obviously laughing at something he shouldn't have been and Erik smirking, obviously glad he had gotten the better of the professor. But it only looked that way on the top._

Normal people wouldn't look at the subtext off two men, laughing and talking and walking.

But, a normal person also wouldn't look at the way Erik was looking at Charles, and they wouldn't notice the way that Charles was blushing at whatever had made him laugh as hard as he was, and they also wouldn't the way that Erik's smirk was kind of possessive in a way. Like he was proud.

And then the gaze that he was laying on Charles . . . Charles was surprised he hadn't thought of it sooner. That he hadn't dissected this moment along with all the others he had shared with Erik in his pitiful self-loathing period right after the diagnoses.

After pulling apart the picture so much that it was hardly even a picture -- more-so a compilation of psycho-analysis, association, and adjectives -- Charles found that he couldn't bring himself to listen to the boys' gossip downstairs.  
  
  


**_Erik_ **   
  
  
  


"So you think it best that we go in -- all guns blazing -- without giving him a proper and decent warning? I thought Charles wasn't our enemy!" Raven had been going on like this for ages and Erik was near pulling his hair out.

He was trying to be sympathetic; he really was. However, he bad a team to run; a team that was ever so present during their little shouting match which really just consisted of Raven yelling at Erik like a spoiled child -- a spoiled child that she probably was -- and Erik trying to dissuade her from her tirade.

Emma was smirking like she had just built the best Lego house.

Erik sighed and rubbed his face. "Charles and his followers are not our enemies. Now, Mystique, I've given you an order; a plan. If anything you should be grateful I didn't just drag you along on the way." Raven scoffed but Erik just continued. "Now I know your brother has sheltered you, and I've given you a lot of adjustment time. News flash, darling: when you serve someone else's agenda, you need to follow their rules."

She sneered. "That's a fine looking high horse you've got yourself, Erik." She lent forward and put her elbows on the table, lacing her fingers together and resting her chin on them. "Would you mind, though, explaining to me why we so _quickly and cunningly_ must add another member to our group? I'd say w're doing just fine without Charles, and I do think that it'd be a hassle to have two telepaths on our side."

Riptide and Azazel were sitting stoic in the corner, but this piqued their interest some. They didn't think that the blue woman would have this much fire in her.

Erik pulled a tight smirk to the corner of his mouth. "Well, Mystique, as I've said before: it is not your job to _think_." He turned away from her and prepared to address the rest of the table, the violent violet spreading across her cheeks concerning him a bit. "I hope the rest of you understand the plan. If all goes well and efficient, no one should be hurt by the end of the night and we should have gained ourselves a telepath."

"You'll be hurting Charles!" Raven called, jumping up again. "In case you didn't know, he's paralyzed no thanks to you--"

Without his permission, Raven was cut off by the silverware flying off of the table and pictures falling to the floor, nails clattering not nano-second after with resonance.

" ** _We are getting your brother and that is the end of it! You can throw all the little fits about it that you want, but if I have to, I'll tie you to the goddamn floor with plumbing_** _ **pipes!**_ "

With that, he restored the silver-wear to their original positions beside plates (which was really pointless because every one in the room had a lost appetite by now) and the pictures to their dusty places on the walls before turning back tot he group.

He narrowed his gaze to Azazel. "Will you be ready to travel all that way by eight p.m. tomorrow night?"

Azazel just nodded quietly, not dropping his eyes until Erik turned away to face the two women sitting across the table.

He looked like he could kill.

"I hope you both will be ready by that time. We'll disperse on the front lawn at eight and until then you are free to do anything you please," But Erik thought better for a moment and narrowed his eyes on Raven. "Except use Azazel's gift or the telephone." She rolled her eyes but glared right back at him.

With that, he left them all to Anything They Please Except Use Azazel's Gift Or The Telephone.

When he made it to the new study he collapsed into the chair at the desk.

His front pocket felt like thousand pounds, the helmet was becoming insanely uncomfortable and it made him feel paranoid.

He couldn't do it. He couldn't _take_ Charles. Erik could do a hell of  a lot of things in order to get what he wanted. That was proved on his mission to kill Shaw -- which was now over and had restored little peace inside of him, as Charles had predicted.

But did he really need Charles that--

Yes, he did.

He didn't know _why_ he did, either, but he did.

He didn't know _why_ he was so concerned for Charles's safety at all times, but he _was_. And he didn't know _why_ Charles's moth-eaten grandfather cardigans amused him so much or why they made him seem so much younger (or why he was totally okay with that) but they did, and that only made him want to store Charles away somewhere where the world couldn't get to him.

Like this safe house.

Maybe that's what he was doing: protecting Charles. It was more than returning the favor, he knew that, but maybe Charles's naïve demeanor and stubborn will was just pulling at Erik to protect him. Maybe he -- or some sick, subconscious part of himself -- had decided to spread a little light on his tirade of revenge and anger.

But it wasn't that either, because if there was ever serenity in Erik's life or a middle ground between it and his suffering, it was no doubt Charles standing there with his bright blue eyes and fascination with peace.

He could do it.

No, correction, he _had_ to do it. More because he didn't fancy going insane, but also because he'd destroy himself if he had to go another week like this.

And at that realization (that there was no getting out of it) -- along with the realization that he be holding Charles in his hands tomorrow evening -- the small, dented, blood-caked bullet in his front pocket seemed to pull him down more.


	5. Chapter Five

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Erik comes for Charles and nothing goes right.

_Erik couldn't tell by the end of the night if he was proud of what he had done or not. As a leader, fighter, and teammate, the mission had gone exceedingly well as far as locating and such. Stealth, skill, and team-work got the job done and he trusted everyone to do their own little parts (which ended up to be something good instead of something foolish)._

_However, Charles was something more than just a mission, despite what he continued to tell Raven and Emma and even Riptide, who started to question what they were doing at the last minute. He was more than just a tactile series of events that lead to a victorious aftermath._

_He was Charles: untouchable and good, by all definitions._

_But, Erik supposed logistically, if he was a mission, he was Erik's mission. Sure, Erik had help with the victory, but it was Erik's plans and ambition that got them this far._

_Charles was his victory by the end of the night._

_Charles was finally **his**. _

 

 

**_Erik_ **

 

 

Emma had the first move. They had been hiding behind some tall hedges behind the giant satellite dish when she had sent the scientist -- whom she murmured had such a fantastically organized brain -- to sleep first, because she assumed he would be the most clever.

When the clatter of the blue, furry, genius hitting the floor was heard, it was heard by the redhead who was, incidentally, the first to arrive. He was in the room almost like he could float and he quickly searched the room for Hank. He, of course, was kneeling by the beast's side when Emma sent him to slumber. This was surprisingly convenient for them because the Pyro was just in the next room, listening to heavy metal and smoking.

"Wait." Erik had urged her, putting a hand on the kneeling woman's shoulders.

Alex had always been one of his favorites. The kid was smart, good, and had killer instinct. It didn't feel right to render him completely useless and weak without a warning of some kind.

But Frost shattered any hope he might have quickly. "I can feel suspicion rolling of off him in waves, darling. Only a matter of time. And, if you want to try and _persuade_ your professor, I suggest we do it with all guards up."

After another moment and a heavy sigh, he let her send him into a secure, safe-feeling-dream.

"Where is he?" Raven whispered, catching a glimpse at Erik's nervously tensed jaw.

Emma closed her eyes. "Top floor." She raised her hand and pointed. "That-a-way. The lights are on."

Erik and raven nodded curtly.

But after a second, Emma raised her eyebrow and grimaced at the room she had been pointing to. "Azazel, would you mind? The dear professor has mental guards on the grounds." She looked up to Erik from a crouched position. "Best go in quite a rush then, if you're ready." She said, a bit shakily. She cast a quick and nervous glance at Raven and then swallowed, looking away guiltily just a quick even though Raven hadn't even spared her a glance.

Something told Erik Charles sent a, less-than-friendly message to Emma because he couldn't see any other reason she would look so afraid.

Azazel nodded, turning to Erik and Raven, holding out his hands. Raven took his hand and stared up at Erik with bright, innocent looking eyes.

He shook his head and laid on hand on Raven's shoulder. "You stay here. Emma can try and tell you what's going on if she can reach Charles, but you shouldn't be there. It's not going to be pretty."

Raven frowned, but nodded. "You bring him back in one piece." She said calmly before grabbing the cuff of his sleeve, shooting him a desperate look. "Just . . . Don't be mad at him. He didn't know that you'd-- Didn't think that you'd really . . ."

After moment of silence and unwavering curiosity, Erik pushed. "He did'nt think that I'd what?"

Raven opened her mouth reluctantly, but before she could cough out a syllable, Emma snorted a laugh.

"Seems that your mighty professor," she stated, looking off towards the mansion. "is a bit self-conscious. First of all, he doesn't think that you'll come for him. His exact wording is, 'Why would he need me?'. Secondly he doesn't even know if he wants--"

"Jesus, Emma!" Raven snapped. "I know you think it's _funny_ , but I think he deserves a bit of privacy!"

Emma simply bowed her head.

Erik wanted to know what the hell she was talking about, but he supposed Raven was right about Charles's privacy and he supposed he was only half listening in the first place.

No more words were exchanged before Erik and Azazel flickered between their hiding place, and the entryway, settling there.

"Thank you." Erik bits, refusing to study what he can see of his previous resting place. "Leave."

And with nod and a rustle, Azazel is gone.

He's sure, by now, Charles is trying to very hard to break Erik's helmet with his mind. He's sure that there are mental monsters and messages waiting outside of his safe shell, telling him: _No, go away!_

For a moment, Erik can't move. The house smelled musty and dusty and old, but it still smelled like home: like Charles. It smelled like ink and book pages. Like fire wood and moth-eaten cardigans and **_Charles_**.

It's a loud thud above his head that sent him running -- with worry pounding through his veins -- in the end.

He vaguely drunk in the house while he jogged through the hallways and up the stairs, using nostalgia and memory to get to Charle's room.

He was at the end of one hallway when he saw a sliver of light forcing it's way out of a famil--

The study!

Of course Charles would be in his study!

Erik jogged down that hallway like he had the others -- cape flapping and helmet shining -- but when he put his hand on the doorknob, he felt himself unable to push it open without the use of his powers. Maybe it was something with his psyche, but he just couldn't, with all his natural strength, push the door open that would lead him practically face to face with Charles.

A guttural groan from the other side of the door made it a bit easier.

When he pushed open and looks in with wide eyes, he almost doubles over.

Charles's body is on the floor with a lamp shade rolling and, what Erik could only guess was the shattered remains of the entire lamp (sans light bulb that was illuminating the room).

Green glass laid haphazardly around on the floor and as soon as the shade hit the wall, the light bulb shattered and the light went out.

No sooner did Erik process the scene than was he kneeled beside Charles with his grip on Charles's upper arms.

Charles squirmed. "Get off of me!"

And the words were like a symphony to Erik, even if a little rough and angry.

But of course, Erik didn't listen.

 

 

**_Charles_ **

 

 

Charles was shocked, to say the least. He had planned things to say and actions to make, but when he had reached out for Alex minutes ago and only received an unyielding dream and a sly, mental wink from the Frost woman, he had immediately negated all such plans and instead -- It was out of shock, really, can he be blamed? -- took a very ungraceful spill out of his chair.

So yes, the best alternative he had now was to twist like a four year old being carried away from his favorite swing set.

"Charles!" He heard Erik hiss as he struggled with the weight.

The words distracted Charles for a moment. They sent a sharp ache through his rib cage that felt like a ribbon being tease around the cartilage between them. He lurched forward a little, but his stillness allowed Erik to pull him into a sitting position on his lap.

Charles was able to twist only slightly so he could look at Erik, who had one arm around his waist and torso, preventing his useless legs from moving, and the other holding his hands behind his back in a vice like grip.

Erik looked . . . like Erik. He looked a bit rougher, though, with bags under his eyes, which were a little bloodshot. He coudln't really see most of his face, though, because of the--

The helmet.

Erik was wearing the helmet.

Charles narrowed his gaze on the top of Erik's head and simply glared. If looks could do anything, the helmet would be on the ground and twisted into a pretzel. It look completely ridiculous too! The thing was bulky and stupid as it had been before Erik added _color_. Just awful really.

As was the cape.

But Charles could do nothing about the helmet ( _And what would he do, if he could? Would he read Erik's mind? Control it? Because, if he did, what would stop Erik from coming back again anf hurting the boys?_ ) and the cape was the least of his worries.  

Charles lowered his gaze and glared into Erik's green-grey eyes, which were as stoic as usual. However, they had a hint of something else. Charles could see surprise there, ( _Maybe he didn't know Charles was a cripple?_ ) among regret and sorrow.

It almost pained him to look.

But they seemed to be studying him just as he was studying Erik; piercingly so, and gently, as if the other would desperate.

"Are you done?" Erik asked, in a low, almost tired voice.

The ribbon in his ribs was tugged once again, but this time, more harder and sharper. Erik's accent, though deep, seemed to be cracking at the ends.

Just for good measure, Charles used all the strength he had to push up with his chest and fight against Erik. Of course, this did nothing, and instead made Erik give him a scalding, petulant look of, _Seriously? Was that really necessary? We don't have time for this._

Erik lifted a hand from its grip on Charles's waist. "Now, I'm going to move you to the bed. You can fight all you want, but it won't get you anywhere but back into my arms. Am I clear?"

A shiver ran up Charles's spine, but he simply frowned and raised an eyebrow. "And how do you expect to get me there? I'm not wearing any--"

But when Erik moved both hands, Charles was suddenly floating two feet off the ground. _Above the glass._

His eyes widened. "How are you doing that? I'm not--"

"I do hope that wasn't an expensive door-knob." Erik said cheekily, obviously intensely focused on getting Charles to the bed.

Charles would have struggled, if it had not been for the large, sharp pieces of jagged glass below him that had once been his lamp. As much as he hated Erik and being at his mercy, he really did enjoy _not_ having a back and spine full of glass.

"You used my door handle to cuff me?" Charles hissed incredulously, resenting the sliver of amazement and pride that whispered in his mind.

But he suddenly felt the bed appear underneath of him and the metal melt away and slink to Erik's hand. Just as suddenly, he felt the bed dip and Erik creeped into vision.

"Charles," Erik said urgently above him, his hands hovering just inches over Charles's body and moving up and down, like he didn't know where to rest them. "I saw blood on the floor. Where are you hurt?"

Charles sighed. He couldn't feel--

Now he felt everything.

It was like an explosion had erupted in side of him.

Erik's hand went to rest on the back of his neck without Charles's consent and now it seemed like all higher life functions were happening in that very spot.

Speech did not fail him though.

"I'm not hurt anywhere." he mumbled, amazed at how his string of words fit nicely in the air."

Erik scoffed. "Then where did all the blood come from?" Charles's eyes snapped to Erik and he tried to roll onto his side. "What are you doing?" Erik asked in a voice that could only be describe as terrified and eternally pissed.

But with a huff, some effort, and smacking Erik's hands away anytime they even came close to Charles's body, Charles was propped up against the pillow within forty-five seconds.

"Sitting up." Charles stated easily, as if his lungs _didn't_ feel full of glass shards and he _didn't_ feel more embarrassed than he had ever felt in his entire life. "What are you doing here, Erik?"

Erik climbed off of the bed, and sat in the chair by the bed that had been practically nailed to the floor after Charles's injury. In the beginning, Alex had occupied the chair most of the time. Always there and always helping. Talking softly before Charles fell asleep and shaking him lightly awake.

Sean had been there too almost as much. He had been there to joke and awkwardly relieve the air of awkwardness.

God, Charles would miss them. Surely Erik wouldn't keep him for too long after he discovered Charles was useless--

_Hey darling. Do you think you could stop feeling sorry for yourself? Your sister doesn't like it._

Not that he was well acquainted with it, but that voice was familiar enough.

 _What do_ you _want?_  He replied sharply, trying to pry Frost's connection off of his link.

Now he really wished that he hadn't used Cerebro earlier that day. He was much weaker than he needed to be to focus on/fight Erik, wake the boys up, and communicate with Frost.

A mental smirk was sent to him along with something that felt like a wink. _I wouldn't try to hard at that, honey. I've got quite a good grip on you all. But don't worry; I'm not looking too far in._

Charles rolled his eyes, which must have caught Erik's attention.

Erik leant forward and put his hand on Charles's shoulder, shaking him lightly. "Charles? What's wrong?"

But Charles simply closed his eyes and turned out of Erik's grip -- or tried to anyways. He didn't have much of an interest in talking to Erik, if Erik wasn't going to be answering his questions.

But Ms. Frost seemed to be right. She had all three of the boys and Charles gripped tightly in a mental bondage (which made him feel very dirty thinking about) and she was only letting him do and see what she wanted.

 _What do you want from me?_ He asked annoyed. Frost's presence on his mind felt odd and uncomfortable. His head felt heavy and static. She wasn't exactly being gentle with him, but he hoped that that meant she was being more gentle with the boys.

 _Well, I **do** know what I'm doing._ She snipped indignantly. _Unlike you, I had someone to teach me not to be sloppy when I was younger._

Charles raised an eyebrow. _What's that supposed to mean?_

A mental eye-roll. _Never-mind that now. We don't have time. Why don't you be a good little boy and tell the boss to hurry it up with the little Angst fest you two seem to be having?_

_But--_

He felt his thought being cut off.

_You do this, and we can settle everything back at the safe-house. Think of it this way: the quicker you get this over with, the quicker we'll be away. No more threat to your precious ones._

And with that, the pressure and buzz was gone.

Okay, so she knew how to bargain. Charles could admit to that much. And he had said time and time again that he would give himself up for these boys.

Now was the time that was being put to the test.

"Charles!"

Charles blinked. He was being shook; violently. By an angry German--

Erik.

Erik was in his room.

Erik wanted to take him away.

"What?" he snapped back. "What do you _want_ so badly?"

Erik sat back and narrowed his eyes, obviously suspicious. "Was Emma . . . ?" He put two fingers to the sides of his helmet suggestively.

Charles sighed. "She said that you needed to hurry so you could leave."

Erik narrowed his gaze questioningly. "So _I_ could leave?"

Oh, the damn tease.

Charles glared at Erik, looking as if he wished he had a second mutation that allowed him to shoot fire out of his eyes. "I am not going with you willingly, if at all."

And to that, Erik responded by grinning a face splitting grin that could only mean trouble. "Oh Charles. You speak as if you have a choice." He tsked at Charles and scooted a bit closer to the bed. "I've a feeling you knew this was coming for quite sometime. I'm surprised you haven't taken the liberty to pack."

Charles sneered. " _Pack?_ When my sister showed up on my doorstep wearing someone elses's skin, telling me that the man who betrayed me in the worst way possible not even half a year ago was going to return again and whisk me away to some god-forsaken corner of the globe -- to do god knows what might I add -- you think my first instinct was to _pack_?"

But Charles's voice did not betray the fear he was beginning to feel, which, in retrospect, was almost as bad a thing as it was good.

He had joked about it. It had been three days since Raven had told him -- confirmed Erik's threat, if you will -- and since then, he hadn't thought it real. Sure, he examined all _reasonable_ explanations on why Erik would ever even think about returning for Charles, but he hadn't come up with anything solid. Sean's picture of the two of them rang through his head like a church bell, but even that seemed pretty flimsy. Especially now, after everything.

But fear was pouring over him now, because Erik couldn't have anything good planned for Charles. He couldn't have good intentions, or anything close to _reasonable_ to justify kidnapping someone.

How far deep in was Charles?

But before he could even try opening his mouth again to tear down all of Erik's arguments and explanations, he felt a heavy pressure on his mind.

_Sleep._

Was whispered softly in his mind, and for the life of him, he couldn't fid enough strength to keep his eyes open.

 


	6. Chapter Six

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It happened so fast, Erik forgot to breathe for a minute.

**_Erik_ **  
  


It all happened so fast, Erik forgot how to breathe for a minute.

One second, Charles and he were having a conversation. A shit one, at that, but still: a structured, soft conversation. And then the next second, Charles was collapsed on the bed.

He sighed. "Emma, I thought we agreed that you would only intervene when I said so?"

But really, he knew this was the only way.

Charles would not go willingly, and would probably send Emma or Azazel into madness before they left. Something dramatic enough and, still, like Charles, only temporary.

And then, Charles's body was jerked upward by Emma's connection. If Erik looked close enough at the piercing gaze that Charles's eyes were flashing Erik, he could see Emma's icy glare staring back at him.

"Sorry darling, but I'm afraid we're going to have to cut this short. Your professor is weak enough now to where we can take him, and he won't put too a big a dent into the group."

Hearing all of that come out of Charles's mouth put a bad taste in Erik's. It threw him a little, to be honest. He could hear the edge of Emma's voice creeping into Charles's accent, and the empathetic shyness he usually spoke with was iced over by Frost's cynicalness.

Still, the thing he loved (and hated) most about Charles's voice, was the soft entity it had, like he was father to the whole world and just wanted to make everything better.

And now it just sounded _wrong_.

"Well, we _were_ almost done here." But 'she' gave him a look that clearly said, _'Don't even lie to me'_ , so he changed direction. "Has Azazel got some of Charles's things that I asked for?"

Charles/Emma nodded. "And frankly, he's exhausted. We all are. Keeping those boys disillusioned downstairs is becoming harder at this distance, your professor -- weak as he is -- is fighting like a soldier, and trying to throw _calm_ at Mystique isn't working like I thought it would."

Erik raised an eyebrow. "Why don't you just come here, then? Since you're breaking all the rules anyway." It was supposed to come out as bitter, but Erik sounded, even in his own mind, mildly concerned.

Charles/Emma blinked and squinted. "You think Mystique **_won't_** come traipsing through the house, demanding to see her brother released and free to frolic on with his peace and books as he once was?"

Erik got up, seeing her point and deciding that, maybe, it was better if everything else was settled once they were at the safe-house.

He flicked his wrist, and all in one motion, the light above their head flicked on, the remainder of the lamp was unplugged and thrown away, and Charles's wheelchair was slowly wheeling itself over to their side of the room.

"Why don't you just leave her in the hiding spot?" He asked in passing, knowing Emma hadn't left Charles's body yet.

He met the wheelchair halfway, not knowing why we was even bothering with the thing. There was already a wheelchair (one, to Erik's preference, that was made of all metal) waiting for them at the safe-house. He could have just as easily held Charles the whole way.

However, he huffed a quick breath and swiftly picked up Charles's body. He used his own hands this time, just to get the feel of Charles's back into his mind again. It was wholly worth it, because it seemed like Erik's entire being sung for him.

Erik wasn't the type of person to touch or to be touched. But the feel of Charles's body (which seemed considerably smaller compared to the last time Erik saw him) pressed up against his own, something hot and sharp shot through him.

But when Charles spoke again, the tone and accent was almost all Emma's, and ruined the illusion for him.

"You know I could never . . . just . . . leave her. Aside from the fact that she would practically beg Azazel to send her forward," Emma continued innocently as Erik set Charles's body down in the flimsy wheelchair. "She would just get herself into more trouble than she's already in."

Erik nodded mutely as he pushed through the house. Not that he had ever noticed before, but just like Charles, Raven was Emma's weak spot. Whenever she talked about Raven -- like the night in his study -- it was all fiery and wonder, but whenever she talked about Raven's general well-being, it was all soft and determine. Raven's safety was something that wasn't really brought up, but he got glimpse when he threatened to get information about Charles out of her, and that had been fear and determination.

Maybe they were more alike than he originally thought.

Slowly, he could feel and see, Emma crept out of Charles's conscious and, by the time he made it to the lawn -- not having broken a sweat from getting Charles down the stairs with a simple wave of the hand and a steady grip on his arm to keep it still -- Charles was slumped forward in the chair dangerously. Erik considered tying him back with Charles's god-awful cardigan that only Charles would wear, but Emma objected, seemingly at the precise moment the idea popped into his head, as if she could read his mind after all.

"Let's not make this whole shenanigan too kinky, now. We'll be home shortly, and after that, you can take him to bed." she said as he braced Charles's body back, again.

And there was nothing remotely sexual about that comment because Erik would have to put Charles in bed -- he was sure the man was exhausted. But because it was _Emma_ saying it, and because they were alone, _and_ because she added a wink, it was suddenly the most dirty and sharp innuendo he had ever heard.

He was glad the helmet was slightly bulky then, because she couldn't see his flush.

"Where's Mystique and Azazel?" He asked quietly.

She waved her hand dismissively. "I couldn't keep her here any longer. She was hyperventilating and shaking and _Calm_ wasn't working too well. I sent her back to the safe-house to get some things ready." She rose a hand to her face and pretended to check her nails. "Azazel is upstairs packing a few more things. Poor thing's probably exhausted." And then she glared at Erik passively. "You better say thank you this time. He's gone back and forth fourteen times. After all the training drills you've been having him do lately, I'm sure he's ready to collapse."

Erik winced, but nodded agreeably.

Just like he had adopted Charles's idea of maintaining structure and balance in a team, he adopted the training regimens as well. He kept his team fit and ready for anything.

Emma's range had approved much, and he was considering letting her practise with his helmet. She didn't have many problem areas, but now she was practising on using her diamond form for more than a shield, which she was still brilliant with.

Raven's main issues were her esteem, details with the form she was taking, and adapting to the powers of the mutants she was mimicking. Just like Erik, her powers were just as mental as they were physical, but they had never really being treated that way. Not by her, at least.

Azazel, specifically, had never really had to go so many different places at once in such a short time span. He was very difficult to train, but traveling too far, too many times tired him some and he admitted to that. Erik mused, in the early days, that maybe he had a secondary mutation: adaption. Any problems he had had one day, had been gone the next with an hour's practise.

"So what _are_ you going to do with him?"

He glared with her. "I think you should take notes from what I've been saying to Mystique for the last couple of nights."

She rolled her eyes. "Oh, I do believe I am the exception to that rule by now."

And she might have been. Just barely, but she might just be the exception to the all-business attitude Erik had been having since Cuba. After all, she had been his only real confidant. Sure, he hadn't told her much and they hadn't gotten personal at all, but they were more close than Erik had been to anyone in a long while. He wouldn't call her a friend, because Charles was his friend (best and only) and Erik knew he would never feel this aching for Emma if they were separated for five months.

He sighed. "I'm not quite sure. I don't even know how he feels." He looked up to her, half-heartedly projecting hope that he knew she could not feel. "I don't suppose you could tell me . . . ?"

She chuckled and threw her head back. "If only, Lensherr." And as she recovered, she You know, he's provided you with endless privacy. The least you could do is return the favor."

Erik winced internally. It seemed there would be a never-ending waterfall of revelations coming towards him this week.

But he simply smirked. "Isn't the saying, 'Know thy enemy'?"

She simply frowned. "Charles is not our enemy."

But before Erik could chalk up a reply -- which, admittedly, was awful -- Azazel materialized in front of them.

"Is it time?" he asked softly, looking Charles up and down.

His lingering gaze on Charles made Erik antsy, but he said nothing.

"Yes, it is."

Azazel grabbed Emma's hand and Erik's shoulder and Erik put one hand on the wheelchair and one on Charles. He didn't know if he kept a singular hand on the wheelchair, if it would materialize without Charles.

 _We'll have to test that later._ He thought, but before he could ask directly, he blinked and they were in the living room of the safe-house, the kitchen fireplace crackling deeply.

Charles still, soundly, in his place in front of him.

 

**_Charles_ **  
  


For the first time since his powers manifested; the first time since he had been able to remember; the first time in history Charles woke up to complete silence.

Not even a whisper was ringing throughout his head about someone being late, or relief from waking from a bad dream. There wasn't even a pleasant feeling from the resonance of a good dream.

For the first time in forever, it seemed like it was just Charles waking up with himself.

It was completely unnerving as he was pulled, gently, from the middle-ground between sleeping and waking, but when his eyes fluttered open, he was in the middle of full-blown panic.

"Hello?" He whispered, just to make sure . . . .

And wrestled with the sheets to pull his hand free and rub his face.

The sunlight in the room was blinding, but he couldn't focus on it.

Again, he reached out his mind like a hand into, what was just newly darkness.

This had never happened to him before.

He blinked.

He was in a room - not dissimilar to his own - that was not his own. The walls were the same, and the four poster bed was almost a duplicate, but Charles knew the difference between his home and a copy.

This room smelled nothing like his: dew, amber, and his father's cologne. It smelled like crisp winter, parchment, pine and . . . faintly . . . **_Erik_**.

But it couldn't be . . .

The previous night's memories flooded through his mind, blocking his vision of the large window on the south wall for a moment.

 _Erik_. . .

Emma Frost being in his mind . . .

Fighting her and Erik almost at the same time . . .

Trying to reach out to Raven . . .

It was a blur but it was intelligible, so Charles was at least settled with the knowledge. Frost must have creeped out of his conscious before Azazel brought them to the house.

Smart of her.

But the link she had looked past and left open had let him see enough, and fifth year geography had taught him enough to know that they were somewhere near Alaska or Canada. Montana was a stretch to guess, but he wouldn't put it past Erik to assemble and train a team in a nook in a woods somewhere in the middle of winter.

He almost smiled at that.

He threw the neat, thick covers off his body, immediately regretting the decision with a shiver.

So he was somewhere where he either couldn't read minds, or there were no minds around. It was a bit of a relief compared to being in a big city, but it was just as unnerving.

Suddenly, static filled his ears and a voice pierced the silence over his head.

 _"Charles?"_ asked an all too familiar voice up above. When he looked up, he could see the speakers sitting in the ceiling above the bed.

Raven. The voice was Raven.

"Where am I?" he asked, seeing no reason in bothering with pleasantries.

He started gather whatever pillows he could find and piling them against the headboard of the four-poster bed. His intention was to allow himself to sit up properly while he had this conversation with her. It would probably be the least amount of dignity he could allow himself while he was stuck here.

And with effort, he was sitting up and covered -- with a slight head-rush -- by the time she spoke again not a moment later.

_"You're in a safe place. One of Shaw's old safe-houses."_

Charles wrinkled his eyebrows. "Plural?" he asked pointedly.

He heard Raven chuckle through unrelenting static. _"That's what_ I _said."_

And even though he had to strain to hear it, he caught: _"The man was as paranoid as he was sadistic."_

"Erik!" he called, more accusing than curious.

A sigh. _"I'm here."_ Another sigh. _"I was going-- Mystique! Get that thing out of my face!"_

 _"But you need it closer!"_ He heard his sister whine.

There was rustling for a moment that Charles, for some reason, didn't try to interrupt. Finally, he heard a gust of static and then Erik's voice rang clear throughout the room.

 _"Charles?"_ Erik asked, with a bit of uncertainty.

Charles huffed. "I'm here you twit. It's not like I crawled out."

There was a pause.

 _"I'll be right there."_ he said, and then there was another set of rustling and static.

 _"But I want to come!"_  he heard his sister call -- probably to Erik -- with childish indigence.

\-- replied: _"But Charles would want me to! Wouldn't you?"_

He raised an eyebrow, forgetting that she couldn't see him. "Raven, as lovely as it would be to see you again, who said that I wanted to see anyone?"

But there was nothing but the silence to greet him again. Not even the static seemed to bother him for the few moments that his voice echoed off of the walls, and Erik bursting through the doorway.

And when he peeked around the post of his four-poster bed in order to get a proper look at Erik as he marched in, looking about the room like he expected Charles to be _anywhere_ but the bed, he wanted to scream and shout and throw things.

He could scream and shout all he wanted (there was nothing in reach to actually throw at the man, and he was shit aim) and he knew that. However, if his mother or Kurt or even Cain had ever taught him _anything_ throughout the painful bane that had been his childhood, it would've had to have been how to look poised and unaffected by pain and anger. (Also how to down a fourth of whiskey without flinching, but he wasn't focusing on that right now.)

Instead, he put on a sickly sweet smile as Erik pulled up a soft looking chair beside the bed.

"Hello old friend." he said easily, as if they were simply meeting up for a game of chess. "Say," he leant forward. "Did you think the next time you and I would meet, I would be your prisoner? Because I know for a fact that I sure as hell _did not_."

Something in Charles cracked, though, despite his harsh words and vigor behind them. Something he couldn't name and maybe something he didn't want to. A whisper of . . . _relief._

And he didn't need the telepathy he didn't have access to at the moment, to know that Erik felt the exact same thing.


	7. Chapter Seven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He had been planning to talk to Charles - calmly and kindly - once he woke up.
> 
> Or, everyone hates Erik and Emma cock blocks to the max.

**_Erik_ **

 

He couldn't do much but gape at Charles when he stormed in the room. He had been planning to talk to Charles -- calmly and kindly -- once he woke up. And that was another thing; he had been planning on _being there_ when Charles woke up. He had been on his way, actually, before Raven pulled him into the Inbox Room in, what must have been, the middle of their conversation.

But now he was here and gaping at a half-awake, flustered, angry Charles with his blue eyes drooping and his thick hair tousled and mussed. That image alone put thoughts he couldn't account for into his mind and a bad taste -- that felt _so good_ \-- onto his tongue. He was moving before he knew what was happening and, before things went too far, he had pulled up a seat _next to_ Charles's bed.

And all illusions were shattered when Charles opened his mouth with that sour-candied smile and spoke to Erik in a tone so harsh, he wasn't sure if Emma wasn't speaking through him.

But it wasn't Emma and he knew that. He would know the difference by now -- should know the difference by now. And, he should have been expecting some sort of passive-aggressive hostility, (because Charles wasn't the calm saint Erik had once assumed -- at least not completely) but it still stung like a son-of-a-bitch.

He winced internally but showed nothing, aside from pursed lips and a grim line for a mouth.

"Good morning Charles. Did you sleep well?" he asked good-heartedly, in the same way he had been practicing on all night.

Of course the night before, he had been practicing on a throw-pillow, not Charles.

He had been planning all night on what he was going to say and how, but now that he was actually there, he could nothing but gap at Charles and shout mental prayers at him behind his helmet, pleading and kicking and screaming about how sorry he was.

He wanted to take the damn thing off and crumple it to pieces, but deep down inside -- despite the fact that he trusted Charles with his life -- he knew he needed it. He needed to shield Charles form his darker thoughts and from the truth about why he was here. Because, if he was being honest, there was a bigger reason why he needed Charles so badly and why he would take Charles's hate over silence any day. It was just that he wasn't ready to explore that reason just quite yet and he didn't need Charles poking at it with his stick of self-righteous experience and hero-complex.

Charles scoffed, pulling Erik from his thoughts. "A Telepathic-induced sleep always does leave one refreshed and ready for the day."

Again, Erik registered this distantly and still took it like a blow. This wasn't _his_ Charles. Erik didn't know where he went, but this wasn't him.

"Well I'm glad." he kept up his bleak and forced façade.

Charles just rolled his eyes. "Great. Now that we're done being civil, can you explain to me why the hell I'm here?"

Erik raised a mocking eyebrow. "Who says that we don't have to be civil?"

Charles looked at him pointedly. "Possibly because -- oh, I don't know -- I'm your prisoner?"

Erik tilted his head to the side. "Charles, you are not an enemy. Why would you be a prisoner to a friend?"

Charles pursed his lips, looking thoroughly disgusted. "Am I allowed to leave?"

There was an obvious silence where Charles obviously wanted an answer and Erik obviously didn't have one.

After thinking of different deflections, Erik decided that, if Charles asked him, he probably would let him go.

But there was no reason in leaving _hope_ for Charles to start asking.  

Erik sighed. "No. Not really."

Charles sighed and threw a hand through his hair. "Erik, what are you doing? Kidnapping isn't you. Murdering in the name of revenge, maybe. But _kidnapping_? God, Erik, what are you thinking?"

Erik smirked. "Wouldn't _you_ like to know? Who are you to judge me when you can't even get past three inches of lifeless alloy?"

Charles was, by instinct, immediately apologetic. "I'm not--" But then his wide eyes drooped into a glare and his lips pressed together in a hard line. "Do you even know what that thing does, Erik? Because I think if you did, you wouldn't be so quick to say things like that."

And without thinking, Erik scoffed. "Because you're such a threat to me the way you are."

And there was silence again.

Later that night, Erik will remember Raven gasping, "Erik!" over the intercom. He'll remember the flash of hurt cross over Charles's face and he'll remember the white hot pain of guilt that stabbed through his chest.

But in that moment, he could only register the silence and Charles's sudden flinging himself over the side of the bed that was away from Erik.

 

**_Charles_ **

 

It didn't hurt him.

It didn't hurt him _at all_.

He didn't care, he told himself, because they were both playing parts.

Maybe.

As far as he knew, Erik was just playing the role of the daunting Magneto. The brooding, misunderstood villain that just wanted equality for his people. Equality that involved genocide . . . but still equality.

Charles was the over-protective, under-loved professor who wanted peace along with equality. He was good at it too, by this point. Existing. Because they both knew who the other _truly_ was, even if they shied from admitting it. 

And before, he thought their parts could work just fine, so long as they stayed just that: _parts_. They could co-exist with their counter-part easily _because of_ every opposite and every kink.

Now, however, he knew that he was wholly mistaken.

It was only when Charles began to crawl to the other side of the bed that Erik seemed to have realized what he said and spoke.

"Charles, what are you doing?" Erik stood up, but Charles still refused to look at him.

" _Leaving_ ," he huffed, as he practically clawed across the thick duvet. The bed seemed so much larger now that he was trying to get out of it.

He heard Erik sigh. "Charles, stop that. You're going to hurt yourself."

Charles didn't have the energy to reply.

He heard a rustle behind him and suddenly Erik's body was in front of his face on the complete opposite side of the bed Erik had previously been on. "Charles, stop."

"No!" he grunted childishly, moving to untangle himself from the covers at the edge of the bed. He had worked up a cold-sweat, and his arms were protesting, but Charles continued disentangling his unfeeling legs from the covers that seemed tightly wrapped around him.

"Charles, you're going to hurt yourself, now," Charles felt a hand tightly grip his upper arm. "Stop."

Charles attempted to shake Erik off. " _Get off!_ "

Erik sighed, and before Charles could look up at him, his arm was stuck to the head-board of the bed.

"What the hell?" he muttered under his breath, trying absently to pull it away. He looked up to his wrist and found something shining there, reflecting the sunlight.

"I'm sorry Charles, but you were-"

"Did you _cuff me_ to the bed?" Charles asked quietly, accenting every syllable. He felt angry enough to start a fire and was more surprised that he was able to keep his voice so steady while he was so enraged. He felt like he was shaking, and he wanted nothing more than to _show_ Erik just how angry he was. However, he found he could only talk in a civil fashioned, passive-aggressive, hushed tone.

"You were going to hurt yourself." Erik stated simply, like that was supposed to explain everything.

"Wha-What _is_ that?" Charles flailed about a bit before he recovered his other, not so _occupied_ hand to reach up and feel the metal. It was warm. Not hot or hurtful, but it was warm; like a little heartbeat, to be less sentimental about the whole ordeal. It was, in a way of words, _alive_. He could feel Erik's control like he used to feel Erik's mind. It was very much more active now, of course, with Erik focused on keeping his hand there. Or, at least, that's what Charles assumed.

How had he not felt this before?

"Well, when I asked you about your doorknob last night, you didn't seem too adamant about me returning it, so . . . " He trailed off suggestively.

Charles furrowed his eyebrow and did his best to sit up with his hand still attached to the head-board. "Erik, my doorknob isn't silver." Charles stated, and Erik simply shrugged, sitting on the edge of the bed.

"I made some . . .  _modifications_."

Charles couldn't tell _why_ his skin was tingling. He assumed it was because Erik was near, though he excused that assumption with the reasoning it was because he wanted to punch him in the face. Usually, though, he was against violence, so he was sure that wasn't it. 

Then again, he usually wasn't a prisoner, cuffed to a bed by a magnokinetic who used to be his friend.

Yeah, today, he decided, was probably not the day to expect anything 'usual' to be happening.

Suddenly, Charles felt the 'bracelet' slide slowly down and limply slide onto the pillow he was using as support. He flexed his fingers and the metal moved with his perforating wrist, flexing with his skin. When he touched it again, it wasn't as alive as before, but he could still _feel_ Erik there.

"How long are you going to go on with this tantrum?" he asked coolly, finally letting that anger seep through.

Erik grimaced and tampered a little at the metal, pulling the hand away from Charles. As soon as the hand flew out too fast for Charles to grab and pull back, Erik reached for it and captured it in an iron grip.

"You think this is some childish ploy to prove some mundane point?" Erik asked, turning Charles's hand over and over again with a feather touch.

Charles's shivered quietly, but talked easily. "What else is it?" he asked. "What else could you possibly _want_? You can't _honestly_ believe that I'll _work_ for you! Especially after you put my people at risk. I can't even-"

Erik threw Charles's hand back onto the bed. "Are you talking about the beach? Because, in case you don't remember, I was the only one _saving_ us from not getting blown to bits-"

"Oh! That's _rich_ coming from you! The revenge on Shaw? I completely understood, really. And he needed to be ended. But then, you went and threatened-"

"I was _protecting_ -"

"Your _idiotic_ idea that every scared, scarred and, broken person was a mon-"

"Because maybe _I_ , of all people, _would know_ what a _broken_ , _scared_ , and **_scarred_ ** person _would_ do if-"

"If they had a choice between _starting a war they couldn't survive_ or letting innocent people live?"

Erik took a breath that almost sounded like a defeated sigh. "I would hardly call them _innocent_ , would you?"

"They were out to kill Shaw. Same as you were."

"Because he was a mutant!" Erik interjected.

Charles shook his head sharply. "No, because he was _killing_ people. You weren't the only person he hurt, you know. He was in the business _long_ before you came along and he didn't just stop after the-"

"You think I don't know that? You think all my nightmares are just filled with  _my_ own screams?" Erik pelted the questions with lightning speed at Charles. "You may not know much about _scars,_ Charles, but when you have as many as I do, they aren't all from things you did to yourself."

Charles could only sit and stare at Erik while the man caught his breath. He knew his face was blank and his chest was heaving, but beneath the surface, there was a festering, white hot anger ripping itself through Charles's ribs. It wanted to be let out. It wanted to shout sinful things that would shut Erik up about scars and hurt and brokenness.

He would never say his life was harder or worse than anybody else's, simply on the principle that he knew the depths and layers of which one could be broken and hurt. He knew that all scars were different and that some ran deeper. However, in that moment, he wanted nothing more than to thrust _his_ scars at Erik and say . . . exactly what he said.

"You think _I_ don't know about scars? I'd almost call you an _idiot_ for thinking a _Telepath_ wouldn't know about pain and hurt. Trust me, if you knew--"

Suddenly, a wave of electrical whining and static filled his ears -- half-physically and half-mentally.  

"Charles don't you _dare_! Not with him! Not now! You won't be able to take it back."

Charles didn't know, in that moment, why Raven always considered _him_ the voice of reason.

He opened his mouth to speak, but was interrupted.

"She's saying not to worrying about it." Emma Frost was leaning on the door-frame of the wide, open door; her arms crossed and her lips pursed, glaring over at Erik. "She's on her way down, by the way. Didn't think to stop and tell him, I assume?"

She'd not read him and he knew it. He might as well be polite, he figured, to the guest who, at least, stopped to take their shoes off before barging into his head.

He reached out his accessorized hand and smiled politely. "Charles Xavier."

He knew her and she knew him, but the last couple of times they'd met, she had been trying to kill some of the people he loved dearly. They'd both entered each others minds' forcefully to much of the dismay as it was to the other, but now they were in a house and trapped there.

In other words: he might as well not have one more person in the house of whom he is afraid of being smothered by in his sleep.

Slowly, but with a genuine, slightly predatory smile on her face, she crossed the room in less-than-comfortable-looking, knee high, white leather boots.

She reached out her hand and met his with a strange vigor and genuinuity. "Emma Frost. Pleasure." She blinked, and her eyes turned diamond for a moment.

Like really he _needed_ a reminder that, only less than half a month ago, Raven hadn't chased him throughout the mansion, raving about all the small tears in his favorite jacket.

' _Next time you have a run in with diamond woman, make sure to bring your own sewing kit!'_

He hadn't noticed they were staring at each other with small smiles on their faces until Erik cleared his throat and put an hand on Emma's forearm, stiffly pulling it away from Charles.

"Is there a _reason_ you've chosen to interrupt us, Ms. Frost?" Erik asked sharply, making _Charles_ feel like _he_ was the one in trouble.

Frost seemed unaffected, and went back to glaring at Erik, who had moved off of the bed and was standing now. (Charles wouldn't have noticed this if it had not been for the fact that Frost herself had now taken a seat where Erik had been sitting before the mattress even had a moment to rise to its previous neatness.)

"Only to remind you that you have a brunch with our _vetted_ Peruvian supplier, who is _not_ in a good mood, due to his little . . .  _inquisition_." she supplied hastily, a sort of clever tone in her voice. She turned to Charles. "Azazel is _quite_ thorough."

Charles, despite himself, was beginning to like Ms. Frost a little bit.

Erik sighed and tapped on his helmet where his temple would be. He turned away from Charles slowly and reluctantly looked down at Frost. "And at what time is this, again?" he asked, portraying nothing of what, Charles knew, was probably hurricane inside his mind.

Frost looked up to the wall opposite of her and sighed. "Ten minutes from five minutes ago. I'm sure you could be _early_ , for once with some leg work."

Erik groaned, while Charles couldn't help but chuckle under his breath.

Erik began to hastily pace towards the door, casting side-glances at Emma, who, in-turn, was looking excitedly at Charles. He couldn't help but feel like a new doll under her gaze. But then, he was sure he was looking at her the same way. After all, they both knew what it was like hearing voices in your head twenty-four hours a day.

That could probably build a profound bond of some kind on its own.

But what was more than that was that she had defended him, she was - Charles assumed anyways - a friend of Raven's, _and_ she provoked Erik.

If only he could convince her to let him out, they would be the _best_ of friends.

Erik cleared his throat in the doorway. "Charles?"

Charles's head snapped up in Erik's direction and his eyes immediately narrowed. "What do you want?" he asked, clipped, yet measured.

Erik visibly swallowed, but otherwise kept his face unfeeling. "Ms. Frost and your sister will be taking care of you while I am gone. You can ask them for anything, but trust me when I tell you it's no use trying to provoke either of them to let you out of the house."

Charles rolled his eyes. "Why would I want to leave when I've been treated to _such royalties_ as being hand-cuffed to the bed first thing in the morning?" he asked.

Emma's gaze was approving and clearly stating that wistful sarcasm definitely looked good on him. She looked back up at Erik. "He's got a point, boss."

Erik's eyes looked like he could murder, but his voice, again, gave nothing away. "You _will_ be summoned at dinner."

And then he was gone.

And they weren't alone for long before Raven burst through the door, out of breath and slightly purple.

 


	8. Chapter Eight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Questions get asked, answered, and added to.

_**Charles** _

 

"Raven, get off of the poor man so he can _breathe_."

To say he was tackled would be an understatement.

It was more like Raven had suddenly sprouted a secondary mutation that allowed her to be in two places at once. Charles only thought this because he could only see a blur between Raven and when she fell onto the bed, clutching him as she sat in his lap.

Raven nuzzled her face into the crook of Charles's neck one more time before she stood up more abruptly than she had sat down. Charles heard Frost mutter, "Sugar rush." but otherwise, they were all silent.

Raven looked like she could explode from happiness. It reminded Charles of when they were children and he would ask to play Raven's favorite game.

Frost looked like . . . well, Charles couldn't tell her emotions right off the bat because her face was looking down at Raven, who seemed completely oblivious to her presence at all.

"Well at least _I've_ acknowledged him since he's been here." She mentioned in passing, slowly tearing her eyes off of Charles and up to Frost's face.

Okay, so maybe not completely oblivious.

Frost -- Emma, because _she_ was not hostile at the moment -- smirked. "Oh, Charles and I have had our pleasantries." She reached down and put her lips to Raven's ear. "If you're going to eavesdrop, darling, you should at least make sure you get to the interesting bits."

Charles blinked. Correction: he could _only_ blink, as Raven turned her head all the way and kissed Frost's cheek swiftly.

"Well, at least I was able to break up the little pissing match." Slowly, Raven turned to Charles. "Wasn't I?" she tilted her head to the side. "Charles? You okay in there?" she tapped his forehead.

He cleared his throat and propped himself up further on the pillows.

"Well, first of all, I wouldn't call it a pissing match, Raven. Thank you for that, though. Even though I already sort of . . ." What did he do? What did Emma do? Why couldn't he reach out himself? What the hell was up with this room?

But Raven nodded before he was able to spew his confusion. "Well, you have always had a bit of a temper. I just figured I could help make your time here a bit more bearable."

Charles smirked. "Soften my hardship?"

She smiled sheepishly again and looked down.

Emma, who was now standing, sat down in the same armchair that had been on the other-side of the bed and leant forward. "Down to business." Her face was cool and passive now, and Charles amended that she wasn't used to the concept of an inside joke, having been privy to the use of 'looking' in on said kind of jokes most of her life. At least the room affected her too. "So, I'm assuming you have a lot of questions, then?"

Charles nodded urgently. "Can you answer them?"

Emma and Raven looked at each other for a moment and then looked back at him guiltily.

"Well," Raven started softly, taking his hand. "We can answer _some_. He was thorough, as you may well have expected. We have a list of ones that we can and can't."

"I assume you too will go through the 'can't's at tea-time tonight." Emma offered, looking surprisingly angry at the idea of him and Erik in the same room together.

Charles simply scoffed, too bitter to be reasonable. "If he thinks I'll be in the same room as him, alone, willingly for any amount of time within the next century, he's got to be on something."

Raven nodded, but before she could rally behind him, Emma pointed out something Charles wasn't too keen on avoiding:

"Well, dear, not to be a downer, but do you really think that you are in the position to be 'willing' or 'unwilling' at this point?"

Well, yes.

He did.

Okay, so maybe Erik _practically_ had him trapped. Maybe Erik had him _practically_ locked in a room where he was _practically_ human. Maybe Erik was _practically_ in control of everywhere Charles went and everything he did, at this point.

But that was _too_ many 'practically' to not be _hopeful_ , at the least.

"Ms. Frost," he said softly, putting a hand on top of his sister's, who seemed to be sending Emma daggers through her eyes. "You and I know the strength of will better than anyone. I'm not saying I'm cocky, but I'm hopeful." He stretched out a bit and put a hand on her knee. "Once I find out _why_ I'm here, I'm sure I'll be able to deplete any hope him actually achieving whatever he thinks he will by having me."

And despite himself and without his own volition, Sean's memory (and argument) flashed in his head like a faulty headlight.

Raven looked to Emma again, like she was expecting her look back. Instead, Emma continued staring at Charles, terror crossing her face for a moment. When the moment passed had passed, her face screwed up. Her lips pursed (more than usual) and her gaze narrowed in a way that wasn't quite a glare but carried the weight and warning of one.

She tilted her head to the side. "I don't think you will, though. Once he admits it to himself, though, I'm sure it will be easier on the both of you. However, once he admits it to you, I think you'll be more than compliant." Her eyes gleamed wickedly and Charles was beginning to wonder if the woman thrived off of confusion and discomfort.

Charles, despite wanting to squirm and change subject, furrowed his eyebrows. "And I don't suppose you could tell me--"

"It's on the list of 'can't's, Charles." Raven rushed, glaring at Emma. "Thanks for the _subtlety_ there, Emma."

Emma looked wide-eyed at Raven. "You _know_?" she breathed.

Raven rolled her eyes. "I lived with them in an enclosed space for two weeks. It was kind of hard to _miss_."

Emma side-glanced at Charles and whispered, "Is it mutual?"

Raven looked Charles up and down and then bit her lip. "Undecided. I think, though-"

"I am right here!" Charles exclaimed, nudging his sister lightly with his knuckle. "And if you would just _tell_ me-"

"Nah." Emma interjected, leaning back in her seat. "I believe the manual way would be much more fun for all of us. Very educational, very en Vogue."

Charles glared at her, but felt no animosity. "Alright then. Fine." he said, playfully spiteful. "Since Erik is no sentimental, I'm sure he didn't add your blossoming love onto the heaping list of things you can't tell me." Both of their eyes widened at that, but no one interrupted. "Mind telling me about that?"

And they were off.

 

**_Erik_ **

 

To say the Peruvian man was not happy would be an understatement.

He was just glad he had Janos as translator for the man's broken and angry English.

The man looked outrage and shouted something at Erik again, furrowing his hefty eyebrows. Erik picked up "cheeky" and "asshole" out of the sentence.

Janos looked reluctant to translate. " 'You _are_ being arrogant, you filthy man. There is no reason for you to be expecting us to give it to you. We owe you nothing.' Et cetera, et cetera."

Erik half-heartedly glared at the man. "Look, if we didn't come to you, we would go to the Russians. If we went to the Russians, you and your employees would all die. We would either kill you or the Russians would on principle. It is you, I dare say, who should not be acting so brass. You either are going to give us what we want or you aren't." Erik leant closer to the man. "But my colleague, Azazel, will be here in exactly five minutes and he does ever so hate waiting, so I suggest you give us what we want _now_ as opposed to the alternative."

And that was what drove the meeting to further itself in potential. Erik, as previously predicted, got what he wanted and the Peruvian man lived to see another day (much to Janos's disappointment).

Of course, though, that is not to say anyone was glad to be returning home when it was over with. Janos and Azazel had shared the concern of having another powerful (and furious) Telepath under the roof of the new, developing team. Especially since three of the teammates who were actually susceptible to said Telepath's powers had powers of their own that were almost equally fatal if left in the wrong -- Or was it right, if you were going at that angle? -- hands.

Erik was a bit nervous of this as well.

He knew Emma was safe, because even though Charles was infinitely more powerful than she was, she could at least keep him out of her mind. And, Erik knew he was safe behind the helmet.

Raven, Janos, and Azazel, however, were less so. Well, Raven was more safe than any of them on principle. However, Erik didn't know exactly how unhappy Charles was and he didn't know exactly how much the man was willing to do in order to go back home.

When he took Azazel's arm, he found himself even more anxious to arrive back to the house.

Azazel flickered before dropping off Erik, and Erik understood.

"Sir, I--" Azazel started, looking at his hands, like he wasn't sure about the malfunction. Maybe he wasn't. However, he wasn't going to have any skeptics in the house tonight.

The tension was already beginning to suffocate him.

"Nonsense, Azazel. Why don't you and Riptide go and spend a few weeks at another location? Just make sure you're listening for Emma's call."

A nod, and they were both gone.

A deep breath, and Erik was headed in the direction of his room. Sure, he didn't want to have another confrontation with Charles before tonight, but he didn't want to have Charles locked up in that room all day.

_Not if it's going to be in a family friendly way._

He stopped on the stairs. That was--

_"Did you cuff me to the bed?"_

He shook his head. Out of context, he was sure that looked--

_The day in the garden._

Erik ran up the last of the steps. He needed to be somewhere; somewhere else. Somewhere where he could actually feel _This_ and not be attacked or questioned or found out. The files in his hand were held with an iron grip as he ran through the hall, desperately trying to remember where _exactly_ he was.

_That library has to be around here somewhere . . ._

Ever since living in the mansion, he had never been good with new places. Sure, he had to adapt to a new hideout every couple of months, but they usually circled back at least twice before moving onto a new one. This, as far as he was concerned, permanent, and he needed to not look like an idiot when he rolled Charles (whether he like it or not) through these halls.

But just as he stood outside of the door he was _pretty sure_ was the right one, there was a sound coming from across the hall.

Laughter.

A soft, sweet-sounding chuckle just from on the other side of the doorway.

It was soft and welcoming, yet so . . . _alive_. So genuine. So . . . _Charles_.

And if Erik needed any further proof -- which he didn't, because he had spent almost three whole weeks dissecting Charles piece by piece and frame by frame (and also because he was familiar with what that laugh _did,_ and was doing, to him ) -- it was followed by a soft voice asking for the most English things: A cup of tea and an old leather book. The book itself, the voice specified, didn't have to be about anything important in particular. He just wanted an old book, written in old English and covered with dust.

Erik almost smiled.

Instead, he tamed his face and went to open the door to the room.

He could put his sulking and general anguish until later, when Emma was too busy with Raven to read his mind, and Charles was too deep in alloy to even try. Later, he would take the helmet off and run his hands through his hair (probably pulling pieces out by doing so) and think about how things got this way.

Right now, Charles was waiting for him. _His_ Charles. And Erik would not keep him waiting while he had so many nice toys to offer Charles.

He didn't even knock before bounding in.

 

/

 

**_Charles_ **

 

He could sense Erik, before he saw him.

In truth, Charles missed Erik's mind. He didn't know what it was about Erik's mind, but Charles missed having it in the back of his. He knew he shouldn't miss it, too, but he just couldn't help it.

Erik's mind was very different, and even though he always went on about how each mind had it's own uniqueness and how each mind was different, but when you wiped away individual thought and moral, each mind worked the same. Each mind was like a starving child when you didn't look at individuality. All it thought about was food, sleep, and surviving. The human mind -- and he was sure animal -- would do anything to stay alive.

If he was honest, Erik's mind was the same. But it was the way he regarded things like food and sleep and survival underneath the angst and the anger that truly made Charles wish he could just carry the man around in his rib cage.

Erik didn't think about food, and when he was hungry, he ate the exact amount it would take to sustain his body until the next couple of hours. Charles swore he could set his watch by the way Erik ate. And Charles understood he had probably _had_ to put himself on a schedule, what with hunting down a raving Nazi scientist for one half of his life and being tortured at the hands of said scientist throughout the other half.

Erik regarded sleep as foolish but necessary. He only slept for the exact amount of time that he had to. Charles knew Erik could be tactile and alert with only two hours of sleep and a pot of coffee (he had learned that when they had been recruiting mutants), but Erik knew that it was better to get at least six, so that's what he got.

Erik had a different view of survival. He knew he had a deep-rooted instinct of self-preservation, both from being a living organism and from Shaw did. However, he was willing to die for all of the ideals he had. He was willing to die trying to prove a point.

And despite to insurmountable anger had during those weeks leading up to Cuba, Erik had a calm mind with heavy undertones of determination and pure drive to reach his goal. This was probably because his mind didn't pay attention to mundane, simple things and instead dissected things than should have been just details.

He noticed the details.

He noticed the details about the details.

He noticed _Charles_.

And Charles had seen many, many minds, and ones a lot like Erik's, but having a mind like that in the back of his mind for that long had been a gift and Charles only wanted more of it.

And since Charles got to know mental-Erik like that in only the short time that they had lived together, he had also gotten to know physical-Erik. He had gotten to know physical-Erik so well, he knew that if he was living in the same house as Erik, moving shadows were never just a trick of the light.

He had expected Erik to knock, though, so it was _a bit_ of a surprise when he burst through the door, more ungraceful than Charles had ever seen him.

He didn't even glance at Charles.

"Frost, Mystique. Out." It was gruff but calm, but the cape made Charles want to laugh. He sufficed for putting his book down and staring at Raven instead who had such more of a kind of face.

Emma scoffed, recrossing her legs and folding her legs on her lap. Meanwhile, Raven was lounging at the foot of the bed, lazily looking over her shoulder at Erik but not seeming to care what he was saying.

"Well, _Magneto_ ," Emma drawled mockingly, something Charles was hoping she would do more often to put Erik down a size. "Why don't you join us? It's almost nap-time, judging by the state of Mystique over there." She motioned towards Raven with her head and winked. "Apparently Charles is brilliant at cuddling."

Charles's face reddened. He opened his mouth, but Erik's expression shut him up.

Erik had his eyebrows furrowed with obvious anger and fixed a glare on Emma. His voice calm. "Frost, get out. That's an order." He averted his glare towards the lump at the end of the bed that was more knitted quilt than it was Raven. "You as well, Mystique. Charles and I have some business to take care of that doesn't concern you. Go lounge about somewhere else."

At the prospect of peaceful resting place, Charles assumed, Raven sat up lazily and looked over at Charles.

"You gonna be okay? You know, here . . . With _him_? **_Alone_**?"

With Raven's hair messily strewn on the side of her head in all directions while the other-side stayed flat and sleek, Charles couldn't help but smile just a little. "Yes, dear, I'll be fine. I do, you know, have quite admirable self-restraint when you're not around. Go get some sleep."

She just smiled -- if a little doubtfully -- and stood up, turning a little so she could look down at Emma. Nothing was said, but after a nanosecond of hesitation and eyes widening, she stood up -- surprised but still in a fashion that screamed slyness and _Emma Frost_ \-- straightened her skirt, and stalked behind Raven.

Raven made it into the hallway, so she didn't see Emma being grabbed by the collar of her shirt and yanked back by Erik. He pulled her close enough to whisper something in her ear and thrust her away before Charles could say anything.

Without skipping a beat, Emma narrowed her eyes and leaned back in to Erik. And Charles didn't know if she was projecting -- Was she even able to do that? Maybe, because she was so close to the exit. -- or if she was really just talking loud enough for him to hear, but she said in a dangerous tone, "At least _I_ play nice with _my_ toys."

Erik did _not_ look happy.

Charles cleared his throat. "Emma, could you go and make sure my sister doesn't fall down the stairs? She has terrible eyesight when she's drowsy." He strained his neck trying to look around the poster.

Emma sneered at Erik, looking as if she was mentally daring him to oppose, and looked over his shoulder. "Sure thing, _Charles_. Have fun with this brooding pile."

And then she was gone, closing the door softly behind her.

Charles shut his book completely, marking his page and putting it on the bedside table next to his cup of tea.

"Good evening, Erik." Charles folded his hands in his lap. "Are you planning on letting me out of the glass room before sunset?"

Erik said nothing. He advanced toward the bed stiffly, his joints barely bending all their required way to walk less like an alpha wolf and more like a human being. He sat down slowly in Emma's chair and sat a large number of papers in his lap.

They sat in a stoic silence for a few moments, Erik having a white knuckle grip on his stack of papers and Charles trying to avoid putting Erik in his eye sight.

" _Don't_ you ever tell _me_ how to run **_my_ ** team." Erik's voice was so low and unidentifiable Charles was holding back a shudder.

Charles kept on a cheery smile and slowly turned to regard Erik with a passive gaze. "I simply asked Ms. Frost if she would keep Raven _company_. I said nothing of your . . . _leadership_ skills." Erik narrowed his eyes into slits and opened his mouth, but Charles beat him to it. " _But_ , if I were to say anything, I would advise you to, in the future, not manhandle the people who work for you. It does cause the most resentful coworkers."

Erik made a sound that could only be called a _growl_ and tilted his head to the side. "Does it make you feel good? Being so damn arrogant? If I don't remember it clearly, it was not more than five months ago you pried open her mind against her will?"

Charles scoffed. "Yes, I did. _For you._ For information _you_ needed to fulfill your life goal of killing a man. And, I did this _after_ you almost broke her into tiny pieces."

Erik rolled his eyes. "Oh please, and you act like you have _such_ the moral compass. And why _have_ you taken up so much of an interest in Emma Frost all of the sudden?"

Charles started at him dubiously for a moment. "You cannot be that unobservant? Are you?"

"That they're together? No. That one wasn't hard to notice. But you're not going to just, all of the sudden, become her best friend because she's with your sister, are you? I didn't think you were that--"

"Her being with my sister, Erik, makes her my family. And if you haven't noticed, I don't have much of that; much of anyone really."

" _You_ want to preach to _me_ about lack of family? I grew up without anyone. after my mother died, I had no one. No one until-"

"Until I pulled you out  of that water. After Miami, you had family. You had-"

"Charles, not everyone had it like you did when you were growing up. Have you ever thought of that? That not everyone grew up living on the outskirts of New York in a castle with a sister and loving par-"

" _Don't_ , Erik. Don't go there." Charles's hands were shaking, but they were under the duvet. He wasn't angry, he tried to convince himself. He wasn't going to yell. He was going to stay calm and change the subject before he did something he would regret.

Admirable self-restraint.

"Just tell me or show me whatever it is that you were going to so we can get this over with." he struggled, his nails biting into his palm.

Erik looked like he wanted to say more, but instead, slid the papers across the table and waited, staring at them like he could read through them and wanted them to burn.

Now Charles was scared.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What's in that folder?


	9. Chapter Nine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The folder is opened and Erik and Charles talk about 'things'.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Honestly, my writing style could be described as commas and italics and I am so sorry about that.

**_Erik_ **

 

He wanted to tear his hair out.

He hadn't meant to fight with Charles . . . again. He hadn't meant to say the things he did. He didn't mean the words, really, and he didn't mean to lash out.

He didn't want Charles to have all the more reason to hate him more than he probably already did.

He wasn't even angry, really, or at least not at Charles. He was angry at what he had done and that nothing was working out the way that he planned. He was guilty at what he had done as well, but he didn't know how to ask for forgiveness. Everything was all pent up inside, fighting to get out.

Times like these was when Erik wished that Charles could read his mind again.

He missed having Charles in his mind. He knew that he shouldn't and that it didn't make sense, but in truth, he really did.

Charles's mental touch did something to Erik that he never expected.

He didn't know how to describe it because he didn't have enough of it, but it was like an overwhelming sense of _Charles_ in all that he was, in the back of his head. Charles was like a sanctuary in his mind that he could only look at. Charles was an open space he could only peek at when he wasn't trying to kill someone or when he wasn't trying to convince the two of them that he would be better alone in his own mind.

Erik didn't have anything to compare it to.

But Charles still made Erik nervous. Charles made Erik nervous in a way he had never been nervous before. Not like when Shaw was holding a scalpel to his spine; not like when he pushed the coin through Shaw's head or when he put the helmet on, blocking Charles out.

Charles made Erik nervous in a way that mad him want to run. When he spoke, Erik felt something bursting inside of his chest, crawling up his throat.

And now Charles was speaking to him and-

Wait . . . Charles was speaking to him!

". . . and where did you get this, anyway?" Erik looked up to Charles blankly, as Charles paused, staring at one of the papers.

Erik blinked. "What?"

Charles's eyes snapped to his, and he ducked his head so he could look Erik in the eye skeptically. "Where did you get these?" he gestured to the papers in his lap. "What are they?"

Erik blinked again; this was going to be unpleasant. "The Peruvian man Frost was talking about. We do a lot of dealing and trading internationally. How we got this room built, for example, was by sending in some more favors to the Russians to get some more of the alloy. After that, it was just a matter of of slinking the metal into the walls-"

"Erik," Charles rubbed his eyes, clearly exasperated. "We are not talking about this room. Go brag about that to someone who _cares_ later. Right now, we're talking about _why_ you've got six government files on me - in detail - and _how_ you got them." Charles paused and squinted at the paper. "And _why_ it says that I, and my," Charles flipped a few pages to find the passage. " 'Team of rebellious, destructive mutant followers' are deceased."

Erik leant forward. "A little present from Frost to the X-men, apparently. She left the humans with the impression that they bombed the island and that their targets were all dead. I figured you were planning on staying underground, but it's not like they knew _exactly_ how many of their targets were on the island. It also didn't hurt that Moira McTaggart, the agent assigned to 'keep watch' on the mysterious band of mutants suddenly had 'short-term memory loss'."

Charles's eyes widened. "How did you know about that?" 

Erik smirked. "I went to see her a couple of weeks after Cuba to get some information and she had absolutely no idea who I was. I had Emma check her, and wipe her again. Apparently _someone_ was a bit _sloppy_ when they wiped her the first time."

Charles glared. "I was recovering from a bullet wound and learning how to live confined to a wheelchair. Excuse my lack of _finesse_."

Erik swallowed, but otherwise didn't acknowledge the blow. New Charles was obviously allowing himself a little bitterness. "Don't worry. It worked until we got there and she began remembering. Anyways-"

"Wait," Charles put a hand up, staring past Erik. "Why did you go and see Moira, of all people? You didn't even consider her worth protecting when she was giving you a place to stay." Erik opened his mouth to reply sharply, but Charles spoke again, seeming to remember something. "And what did you mention to her, anyways, to make her start remembering? I know I wasn't in my prime, but it was only supposed to wear off if she was triggered."

In truth, Erik went to go see Moira about Charles. He had thought Charles dead, because when they had Raven brake into the CIA, that's the information she came back with. (Well, that's the information she _saved_ after she wiped their database from everything regarding Charles Xavier.) He had a hunch, however, that this was not true when Moira McTaggart, a woman who had be quite smitten with Charles, had no idea who Charles even was. But after about ten minutes of talk, recognition began to slip into her tone and she began throwing things at Erik over Charles's 'death'. Emma got all the information she could before she wiped Moira's mind.

But that's not something new _or_ old Charles would approve of, so that's not what Erik told him.

"I went to her for business reguarding _my_ people and found those." He nodded to the files. "Files that _she_ made, Charles." Erik didn't know if that was a lie or not, but Charles didn't either, and the idea of Charles cozying up to Moira McTaggart made Erik's skin crawl.

He didn't look like he believe Erik, but Charles went back to staring at them in amazement anyways. "And what does this have to do with Peru?"

Erik hesitated; he supposed he didn't have to lie about this. "We were staying in a Peruvian safe house at the time. When we moved again a couple weeks later, I decided to leave the files there for safe keeping." He leant back in his chair and loosened his collar. "Apparently, some of Shaw's other enemies didn't get the memo he was no longer with the living. They raided that safe house, somehow, and acquired the files, probably assuming that they were of Shaw's old team.

"Sometime later, I sent Azazel to get them back and he informed me of what had happened. I did all the tracing back and found the group. They had some other goods so I organized a trade."

"A trade of what?" Charles asked, looking very concerned.

Erik pressed his lips together tight. He hated to admit it, but he wished that Charles was impressed with all the work he had been doing. It was a foolish wish, he knew, because it was all dirty and deceiving and people got hurt, but he still wanted it. He wanted that smile Charles had given him when he moved the satellite dish. 

Then again, making Charles squirm was well worth it.

"Business." he answered, because the fine line between _disregard_ and _hate_ would not have been seen by Charles if Erik would have admitted what he did to ensure Charles's safety by any means necessary, even if it involved gambling with a certain amount of meaningless lives in order to get the files. "The point is," Erik continued. "is that a government, the American government - a _superpower_ in the world had _these_ file and was intending to use them."

"You don't know that-"

" _Dammit_ Charles!" Erik clenched his fists together tightly, trying to stay _calm_ but feeling so _angry_. " _What_ is it going to take to make you see that they will _hurt_ you given the chance?"

They were silent for a moment while Erik surveyed Charles and Charles looked at his hands in his lap.

Erik, after several moments of discomfort, leant forward and put his elbows on his knees. Giving it a second or two of thought, Erik removed Shaw's helmet. Charles couldn't read him in the room, and even if he could Erik wouldn't mind.

He sighed. "But I'm not really going to give them that chance, am I?" he muttered, sounding completely worn. He didn't know if he was even talking to Charles anymore. "I've done everything to make sure you were able to be foolish and niave; so you could believe what you wanted about the humans; so you could start building up your school. I see now, though, that I can't protect you from a distance like that."

Charles snapped his eyes back to Erik's face, making no emotion present on his face. "I don't . . . need _protection_. Especially not from _you_. I've taken care of myself through worse; myself _and_ Raven."

Erik wanted to know what that meant, what _everything_ Charles was saying meant. But right now, he needed to make Charles understand, or come as close to understanding as he could.

"You do, Charles. And I would burn the world down in a second if I thought it would do the trick. I know you hate me and I know this doesn't make sense, but I-" But he what? "But I can do _this_." he said, a fire building behind his words. "I can protect you like _this_ ; with you _here_. And I'm not asking you to forgive me or to like this but if you would just let me-"

" _Fine_." Charles pinched the bridge of his nose, the other hand lay still in his lap, fingernails digging into his palm. "Just . . . My boys _better_ be safe." He gave Erik a piercing look. "I _don't_ like this. I'm doing this so you can get whatever protective urge or overwhelming guilt out of your system now before I start with school. I've never been approving of your little beliefs about the humans," he said, exhaling softly before speaking again. "but this threat sounds real, and I can't have anyone threatening my students.

"But after I believe threat has passed, I'm going to be leaving, understood?"

Erik could do nothing but nod, slowly and dumbly.

Charles sighed. "I assume there's more that you would like to discuss other than my stay in your lovely abode?"

Erik stood. "I'll get the brandy."

And as he turned - without Charles's answer whether or not drinking before five o'clock was the _best_ idea for the conversation that need to take place - he couldn't help but let a face-splitting grin light his face. It felt very foreign there, where thin lines of neutrality or anger used to lie. But it felt good.

Because it was Charles, it felt _spectacular_.


	10. Chapter Ten

**_Erik_ **

 

He didn't know if he was more surprised that Charles was actually speaking to him before he started drinking, or if it wasn't about the fact that he hated Erik.

"So the boys . . ." Charles started as Erik took his seat next to the bed, pulling it closer for no particular reason and pouring their glasses full of the tan liquid. "Since you believe that there is such a threat, are they safe?"

Erik kept his eyes on his glass as he handed the full one to Charles. "Already taken care of. When Emma put them to sleep, I had her leave co-ordinates to separate houses that we have. I'm sure Havoc took it to heart and made them scatter."

Charles didn't seem convinced. "There have been flaws, I've noticed, about these 'safe' houses that you have. They seem to have a nasty habit of getting broken into. Are you sure they're safe?"

"Charles," Erik said, trying to not get annoyed. Charles was simply looking out for his boys; the natural mother hen. "The boys are fine. They're safe. I can have Azazel look up on them once a week if you need. They were once my responsibility too, you know. I cared for them just as you did."

Well, he tried anyways.

Still, though, Charles was unrelenting. "And you just expect me to take your word for it?"

Erik scoffed. "You don't really have much of a choice, now, do you? You'll just have to trust me."

 _Please trust me._ He shouted in his head, knowing Charles couldn't hear. If Emma couldn't hear him in this room at all when she was perfectly coherent and alert, than Charles wouldn't when he was recovering form a supposedly long stay in Cerebro and clouded by anger or resentment.

He really just wanted to shake Charles and force his trust out of him. Charles's trust was like his mind: something he didn't know he wanted before he didn't have it anymore. The lack of it made him feel empty and more like a shell than a human being.

But to his surprise, Charles just pursed his lips and took a drink instead of arguing more. Maybe he didn't want to have this conversation as much as Erik didn't want to. "It seems that you have quite the expanse of safe-houses. Just exactly how rich was Shaw, anyways?"

Erik let out a quiet breath, relief washing over him in tidal waves.

Deflection. A new trait from the new Charles. Erik didn't care. Having Charles's trust made up for a lot, even if it wasn't trust he was giving willingly.

Erik shrugged and took his own sip. "Well, you remember how well off I was when I joined you?" Charles nodded. "That was all Nazi blood money. I stole it from Shaw when I ran away. All that gold and all that cash was only what I could carry in my arms at the time. He was very paranoid and very careful, as much as I hate to admit it."

"Why did you move around so much right at first?" Charles asked, setting his glass on the bedside table.

The top of the table was granite and all of the drawers were cherry wood. Not metal. Nothing that he can have at his will. Nothing he can use.

This really gets under his skin so much, that he struggles to get every word out.

The table was Raven's doing, probably with some influence from Emma. And if he knew Raven -- which he did -- than it was probably done on purpose.

He would expect another Charles-deserves-at-least-a-little-bit-of-his-freedom speech from her in their next altercation.

He would survive.

"Well, we weren't sure _exactly_ what the humans were thinking. We didn't know who remembered what or how everything went after we left. Emma joined us two weeks after in Paris and told us that she found files on us, but that she wiped them and the agents as a pass of sorts that would allow her into our Brotherhood."

Charles raised an eyebrow. "What happened?"  

"She was injured." Erik smirked and shook his head at the memory. "She says she forgot she wasn't really _welcome_ in Russia anymore, and had a run-in with someone from her past. Maybe she just went because she was bored and needed the fun. Who knows? She blames _you_ , actually."

Charles's eyes widened. "Me? What did I do?" he asked. He brought the drink back to his mouth and took a slow sip, and Erik tried very hard not to stare at his lips as he pulled the glass back.

He failed.

He blamed Charles for that too. The man's lips were unnaturally red and it was fairly distracting when Erik had already had three drinks before even planning on seeing Charles before dinner, and took a very large swig before entering the room to sate his nerves.                   

Erik chuckled, and tried not to stare anymore. "Oh, something about barbed wire and sleep."

Charles swallowed. "That was your fault! If you would have at least _tried_ to contain yourself, we wouldn't have even gotten in that mess."

Erik rolled his eyes. "Well you didn't have to come traipsing after me. You run like a girl, you know."

Charles's made a face. "I wouldn't have had to run at all if you wouldn't been so hell-bent on-"

"Revenge." Erik rubbed his eyes, stuck between amused, guilty, and slightly exasperated. Why couldn't Charles come _after_ he killed Shaw?

But he knew the answer to that: because his hands would have been dripping with a ledger filled with the blood of men and white hot anger filling him to the brim. And Charles - being Charles - would have simply tried to fix him. He would have tolerated anything and everything if he would have thought it would have helped.

Catch-22 is what he believed an outsider would have called this.

Charles smiled sadly. "Maybe that horse is a bit too thoroughly abused, hm?" he asked over the rim of his glass.

Erik raised an eyebrow. Was that _his_ Charles he was hearing?

But no, Erik would gladly be Charles's punching bag for his self-righteous views if it made him feel better. It's not like he deserved much else.

Erik shrugged and relaxed in his chair. "I don't think you've ever ridden, Charles." He fixed a serious gaze on Charles's eyes and ducked his head, trying to make eye contact. "I asked you to trust me as your . . . former friend. I never asked you to forget. You have every right to be angry and to hate me. If you didn't, I'd get you a therapist."

Charles smiled, less sadly this time and more teasingly. "If that's truly what you expect from me, I might say that you didn't know me at all."

And with every ticking second and every turn in the conversation, Erik was beginning to believe that he truly didn't.

 

**_Charles_ **

 

They didn't argue, which really got under Charles's skin.

Don't get him wrong; he didn't mind having peaceful, mild conversations, but this was Erik. Erik was anything but 'mild' and 'peaceful', especially with Charles. And that's what they did. They drank, argued, and played chess. Now, though, they were just drinking, staring at each other, and gossiping awkwardly.

It all made him sick to his stomach. He was literally five seconds away from pulling his hair out.

Part of it, he had to admit, was his fault. He could have asked one of the thousand questions running through his mind.

Why would Erik make sure this room was built like this?

How did he know this would work?

Why did it work when they were both in the room?

Why was Erik so hesitant?

Why _the woods_?

How much did Erik know about everything?

Et cetera, et cetera, he could have been asking. However, he couldn't seem to shot the bullets himself and Erik wasn't even near lulling him out of this sudden shyness that washed over him whenever the topics came into peripheral.

It was close to six when Raven finally came and interrupted them in a not-so-gracious manner.

"Charles!" she stomped through door with her arms crossed and practically threw herself at him beside the bed.

"Raven?" he asked, relieved to be pulled out of the rut, but more than a little shocked to be greeted with less than three syllables then arms around his middle. Then again, _was_ Raven.

"Darling, what's wrong?"

She mumbled and stuttered for a few minutes, muffled by Charles's clothes. She quickly moved herself under the covers and scooted in closer to him, entwining her legs with his and gripping him tighter.

He sighed. "Erik, could you-"

But Erik was already standing and waltzing toward the door, drink in one hand and helmet in the other. "I'll check back in in an hour or so."

Charles nodded back to him for confirmation that he'd heard, and then he was gone. In a quiet, almost soundless manner.

Charles barely had a moment to breathe properly before he felt Raven's skin flicker and flutter. Her blue stayed the same, but became more vivid. Her hair became shorter and his started to loosen a bit and move to his stomach. Suddenly, her head moved from his stomach to his lap and she was--

She was shrinking. She was forming herself to look like she did when she was child. But Raven only did that when--

"The night terrors again." Charles guessed. It wasn't a question.

She nodded her small head slowly, making a small whimpering sound.

Charles sighed again and pulled the blankets up to her shoulders, clutching her tighter.

This had happened before. Less when they were younger, because that's when they had been experiencing it; more when 'left'; less when they started working with the Americans. Then again, they hadn't always been staying together then, so he couldn't be sure. He would have never expected it to start up again now.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

But she just burrowed deeper into his side and pulled tighter than he thought she actually would be able to do.

"He-" she started, her child-voice much more shrill than he remembered it being. She must have made her form younger. "He was . . . It was _that night_ again, Charles. He was _laughing_ . . . and you were-- you were just--"

She had had this one before. Several times.

He still didn't know what to say, really, so he just tried to shush her quiet. "It's alright. I'm here. We're here. I don't know where that is, exactly," She laughed a little. "but we are not back there. We don't ever have to go back, I swear." He kissed the top of her head. "I'll keep you safe."

And he let her sob into his side for what might have been hours. Every now and then, she would mumble something about the dream; little details he could recite in his sleep. Then again, they were things that had actually happened to him, so it's not like they were new events.

He was surprised, however, that she denied to be put back to sleep with his powers. He didn't question her about it, figuring it was better left as one of those things done than asked about, but still, he had wished his sister would've just let him give her the peace she needed.

She didn't try to get any bigger, which was upsetting, but she didn't try to get any smaller, either. He couldn't seem to pull her from the edge of crying or breaking down, but she was considerably calmer and easier to get through to.

"WHERE IS SHE?"

It was muffled but it was Emma. Judging by the fact that A) he had no telepathic powers, and B) he had no super-sentsitive hearing, he could guess she was very, very angry.

Raven perked up in his side and started to breathe heavily.

He shushed her back down and held her tight, listening to what was going on.

"Well if you would just settle down for a second and _listen_ \--"

Erik. Erik close by. Erik right outside the door.

He tilted his head down and listened even more closely. He could hear their feet right outside, one pair shuffling faster than the other's.

" _WHERE_ IS MYSTIQUE?" Emma shouted again, and Charles banging on the wall. " _I can't feel her_ , Lensherr! It wouldn't matter if she was at the edge of the estate I would still be able to hear a goddamn _whisper_!"

"We're in here!" Charles called, not being able stand anymore of it. The loudness was upsetting Raven and, frankly, of all the odd things happening and all the weird things Charles had seen in his life, he never thought it would ever come to Emma Frost losing her composure. He had once believed it was because she was much too shrill, but after speaking to her that afternoon, he knew that there were . . . reasons. Levels, as he liked to categorize them.

The door swung open with such a force, Charles was sure there would be a slight hole in the wall on the other-side.

Emma looked around in a slight daze for a moment before making a bee-line to the bed. When she got close enough, Charles raised a hand and she immediately halted.

" _Who is that?_ " Emma hissed, glaring daggers at Charles.

Raven pulled the blanket over her head, now a complete ball.

Charles shushed again, sliding a calming hand up and down her back. "It's your girlfriend. Just . . . slightly _smaller_."

Emma furrowed her eyebrows and frowned. "What did you _do_?"

" _I_ didn't do _anything_." But he didn't mean to make it sound accusatory. He especially didn't mean it to sound accusatory with Erik slipping through the door in the background.

Emma crossed her arms, oblivious to Erik's presence, and pursed her lips, obviously impatient. "Is she--" She craned her neck up and forward, trying to see under Raven's huddle. Raven simply wrapped herself tighter and sank down in the bed, apparently feeling Emma's gaze. "Is she alright, Charles?"

Her composure was obviously dripping back, if the blank, passive look that always sat on her face was anything to go by. He was beginning to wonder . . .

Charles nodded slowly, looking up to meet her eyes. "She will be. I've calmed her down a bit." He looked down at the top of Raven's head. "It might be a while before she feels comfortable enough to come back to her regular size, but she'll be fine."

Emma nodded. "Can I--"

"Do you have to add water to change her back, or can we stop all this childishness now?"

Erik. Charles didn't know if Erik even knew that it was he who had said the crass and harsh words, but they were there and now the silence went from tense to _murderous_ , via Emma Frost.

He was sitting in a darkened corner of the vast room near the door, leaning on the desk with an empty glass in his hand from earlier. Charles couldn't make out his expression because of the darkness and the helmet, but he seemed pretty lax compared to what he should be.

Even he was a bit afraid of Emma, and he didn't have to deal with her every day.

She had no expression to betray whatever she heard and simply turn around slowly.

"What did you just say?" Emma asked, and Charles heard Erik take in breath as if he were going to speak, but Emma spoke again before eh had the chance to. "Do you think this is some kind of joke, Lensherr? Do you think that you have any right--"

"What? Am I supposed to be _sensitive_ , just because she had a nightmare? Now she is just behaving like a child!"

Charles could feel Raven's even breath through all the layers of blanket and clothing. She was asleep, finally.

"Erik, stop." Charles neither had the confidence, nor the will to speak but apparently he had. Raven, he supposed, _was_ his soft-spot, after all.

He heard Erik scoff. "Please, Charles, with the life you two had, there is nothing she could be dreaming about that would reduce her to this."

Charles refrained from raising his voice and simply kept his eyes on the small spot of Raven's head he could see. "Erik, trust me when I say that you don't want to know this. Trust me further when I say that you don't what to keep on the way you're going."

He didn't know Erik was at the foot of the bed until he spoke again. "Anyways," he was directing this at Emma. "There you are. Your love toy is safe and sound. Can you be on with it then?"

Emma narrowed her eyes. "You know what?" she side-stepped, getting within arms reach of Erik. "I really didn't think you were this far gone to not be able to see what's right underneath your no--"

But suddenly, body was violently flung to the other side of the bed and she was thrown into the chair. How was this--

Charles looked down and frowned.

Boot buckles and a hair pin. Emma Frost, the woman who was literally worth millions of dollars and was probably more powerful than Charles was brought down by boot buckles and a hair pin.

Erik stalked over wordlessly, obviously fuming, and put his hands on either arm of the chair.

"You may have forgotten this out of the _many times_ that I have told you: _you_ are not in charge here, _I_ am. If you don't pick up on that soon I will find the deepest, darkest, quietest hole and stuff you in it so you can't hear _anybody._ I'm sure you feel very empowered after your little escapade with Shaw, like that gives you some sort of leverage here. It doesn't. If anything, it makes you look like a fool for betting on the losing man.

"You are of _no_ importance to me. Or to _anyone_ , for that matter. To think that you are is beyond common ignorance and it side-steps into make-believe. Think about it, Frost." He grabbed her chin harshly and moved her face to look at him. " _Think_. In the short time of my life that I've actually _been looking_ , I've come across _two_ telepaths who have proven more of a _nuisance_ than a help to me. Don't you think I could find more if I needed? You came trickling in soon enough, didn't you?

"So if I were you, I would be careful. I would be obliging and careful and not act like I own the place--"

"I did own the place!" Emma hissed.

"You don't anymore!" Erik shouted, causing Raven to stir but not wake. "You are nothing but a servant, now. And no one is keeping you here. Just remember what your former boss used to say, 'If you're not with us, then, by definition, you are against us?'."

Emma smirked. (Only _she_ could have smug at a moment like this.) "The 'us' being . . . Who, Lensherr? You think Azazel and Janos and even Raven with blindly follow you like--"

"I can find people like them too! All of them are--"

"If you're about to say indispensable, might I remind you that you've been resolved to kidnapping an injured professor?"

The rest Charles blurs out because there is shouting and there are threats and words that are meant to hurt are tossed like bullets at people who probably don't deserve said words or deserve more. Words that are meant to scar and maim and torture for lifetimes are simply offered and received. The nastiest things that Charles hasn't heard since he was a child.

But he's used to that, the words. He's not used to the lack of physical pain on his behalf or the lack of violence in general, but he welcomes it, because he's very tired and very frustrated and all he wants to do is collapse in on himself and have all the answers given to him on a plate so he can sleep without feeling like he's giving something up.

So he does what he's used to doing in this situation; what he's been doing since he was at least six: he puts his body between Raven and the threat, curls around her, and closes his eyes, praying to the god he's _hoping_ exists that sleep will carry him away to someplace better; where it all makes sense.


	11. Chapter Eleven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There was a loud shift in his mind like, a hammer coming down to wipe out the old. The sound could only be described as a 'CLANG!'. Well . . . more like there were several of them all on top of each other.

**_Charles_ **

 

He woke up cold and in silence. It took Charles a couple minutes before he could pull himself together and remember what the hell was going on, and once he did, he was even more confused.

He perched himself up on his elbows and looked up at the dark fabric. The downside of having a four-poster bed for Erik, Charles figured, was that he didn't know anything about 'bright' colors. He was surprised that Raven didn't come and spray paint something lude or insulting about Erik behind his back (or above his head in this case).

"Did you sleep well?"

It was Emma. She was sitting calmly by his bedside with his legs crossed and arms folded in her lap. She had a peaceful look on her face but he could tell by her posture she had not been there long. She was suave, he would give her that, but she looked unsettled and quite flustered underneath her little façade.

It took him a minute to remember she was a friend, not a foe, and that he really didn't have to read her so carefully.  

Still looking disheveled and surprise, he nodded automatically. "Where's Raven?"

Emma furrowed her eyebrows and tilted her head to the side, obviously curious. "What do you remember from last night, Charles?"

 _Genuinely curious_ on _Emma Frost_ did not look good, he decided. However, it seemed imperative that he answer her.

He laid back on the pillows and rubbed his face. "You and Erik were fighting . . . Raven had a night-terror . . . You were--" He chuckled softly. "You, in all your prowess and glory, were brought down by your taste in fashion. I fell asleep soon after that."

She glared at him without animosity -- bordering playfully, which sent chills down Charles's spine -- and hmm-ed a little. "Well, I've got to say: you didn't miss much. Mystique is downstairs in our bedroom and Magneto is . . . somewhere." She looked at him seriously. "I'm supposed to call him as soon as you wake, but I was wondering what _you_ wanted."

Charles raised an eyebrow. "I thought you weren't supposed to think for yourself?"

It was harsh, and Charles didn't realize it until he had said it. But she didn't react, really. Not that he had expected her to, but she didn't even bat an eyelash.

"Technically, I'm not supposed to really do anything. Falling in love with your sister, rebelling against the cause that I've had to fight with for a good part of my life--"

"You didn't believe in those fundamentals, though."

She let out a small smile and relaxed in her chair. Again, Charles reminded himself that she wasn't a target.

"Not after a while."

"Do you believe in Erik's?" Charles asked, moving himself to sit up.

Emma uncrossed her arms and put them on the arms of her chair, clearly and deeply pondering the question. "I suppose I do. I have to; I'm here now. He's a bit more . . . realistic than Sebastian ever was. Still, though, sometimes the paranoia the man sheds off is a bit over-whelming."

"I thought he almost always wears the helmet?"

"He does." Emma reassured. "That's my point: it's _just_ shedding -- there's more underneath. Sebastian wore the helmet a lot too, and he said that powerful emotions might seep."

"Are you calling Shaw a _level-headed_ man?" Charles asked incredulously.

Emma rolled her eyes. "Of course not." She sighed. "This is all very maudlin. Can't we talk about something more enticing?" She looked over her shoulder at the door but twisted back around before it could be mentioned. "Like the fact that your sister will almost permanently with-hold sex if I don't feed you."

Charles practically choked on air. Emma handed him a glass, he took a long drink of what turned out to be water, and handed it back to her. "You are very . . . blunt, aren't you?"

She shrugged. "I don't see it as a fault. Now," she stood and started walking to the end of the bed. "How about some breakfast?"

She rolled over a little tray that had a pitcher of orange juice, a plate of toast, a plate of pancakes, a tinier plate of bacon and sausage, and a glass of milk.

Charles smiled. "Raven put you up to this?"

Emma narrowed her eyes and looked back at him. "I can't do something nice on my own. We are going to be family one day, so I've been told." she explained to him as she poured him a glass of orange juice and set it in front of him; stealing a piece of toast before sitting back down in her chair. "I'm not particularly . . . _experienced_ with anything 'family'; you know that from your little pillage in my mind. But Mysti-- _Raven_ , used to bring you breakfast in bed, so I figured this would be a start."

Charles raised an eyebrow. "I thought you couldn't read my mind in here." He didn't say it accusatory, but almost hopefully. If Emma could read him now, then that meant that he had a chance of--

The smile that sent chills up his spine stopped all thoughts of hope.

"I can't." she admitted breezily. "I don't poke around in hers, either, if that's what you're wondering. She _tells_ me things, you know." She looked at the canopy on the bed. "I don't blame you, of course, for forgetting the basics of communication. You've been in here for almost two days and most of that time has been dedicated to arguing."

He smiled sheepishly. "I suppose I must take some of the blame for that."

"Nonsense." She put her hands on the edge of the tray. "Now, eat some breakfast and we'll call the boss in. He'll be angry that I kept him, but I'll deal with that." She stood and looked towards the door. "I do believe he's got some presents for you."

She looked like she was ready to sprint.

"Do you have to leave?" Charles asked, buttering a piece of toast. He didn't want to give too much of himself while he was here, but he didn't think it would do him well if he were to faint while trying to dissect Erik's thinking process.

She frowned at the door like it was mystery. "Not exactly." She looked back at Charles, uncertain. "I don't like the silence," she told him. "I don't like not being able to feel her."

Charles's eyes widened a fraction. Why was she sharing so much with him? They were . . . friendly, yes, and she was supposedly in love with his sister. But why was she trusting him like this? He had seen her mind; he had seen all the damage and the darkness.

What was she _doing_?

He had a feeling her this was going against her instincts on a deeper level, but he smiled softly none-the-less. "By all means, go see her. Call Erik in and _I'll_ deal with him. He never used to listen to me, but-"

"He did. He _does_." She had a desperate look on her face, like she wanted him to _guess_. "If you're sure, I'll get him for you."

Charles just nodded and took a bite. "Thank you for this, by the way ."

She smiled, slight and fleeting. "She said you'd be too stubborn to take it from Magneto."

He opened his mouth to say something, but she was already turned away and closing the door.

"Have fun on the outside, Emma." he called back to her, almost hoping she couldn't hear him.

He heard her chuckle echo down the hallway as she walked away to whatever the rest of the house held out for her.

 

**_Erik_ **

 

Charles was eating toast with jam when he rush into the room, slightly out of breath behind his helmet.

Not but ten seconds ago, he had been sitting alone in his study, filing through the contents of Charles's study papers when a picture of Charles, on the floor, choking and writhing. It took a second of him paralyzed by fear and then he had crossed the house in almost a blink. Somewhere in that, he had put his helmet on out of instinct, but, in hindsight, it didn't matter.

It was all a bit blurred, but he couldn't be blamed (Charles's _life_ was on the line, after all) but when he got to Charles's room, Charles was not choking, or on the floor writhing in his own vomit. He was sitting in the bed on the white sheets, eating toast with jam.

_Mein Gott._

He leant on the door-frame, a thousand thoughts running through his head all at once and he couldn't find it in him to stop them.

" _Dammit_ Charles!" he hissed, breathless. He stood ram-rod straight and walked softly in, taking off his helmet.

Charles furrowed his eyebrows. "From what you've been telling me, all of your plans have been going quite accordingly. That, and I haven't left this bed in twenty-four hours. What kink have you come across that is suddenly _my fault_?"

" _How_ are you using your powers in this room?" The cape pooling at the end of Charles's bed. He relished secretly in being able to breathe deeply. "Did Frost take you out of this room?"

Charles scoffed. "Don't worry. Emma didn't let me out of my cage."

Erik pressed his lips into a thin line. Of course Frost would do this. It was probably some sort of sick joke to her, and she was probably laughing about it right now.

And he let this woman near _Charles_ , of all things _._

He combed a hand through his hair, and held up one finger, pointing accusingly at Charles. "No more bonding with Emma Frost." Finality.

"Why?" he demanded immediately, and Erik knew another fight was inevitable.

Erik started pacing.

He couldn't fire her; that had never been an option. He would probably lose Mystique, and he didn't need them both as an enemy. He needed Emma Frost, as much as he hated to say it. Fighting with her didn't seem to do much good either, but when it came down to it, there was no _conversing_ with Emma Frost. He didn't know which side of her was honest or real and he didn't know which side of her he should hate or pity. He didn't know if she was hiding behind smugness and grace because she was afraid and beaten, or if she was just trying to seem that way.

He didn't know if she really even loved Raven, or if that was ploy for some sort of molecular plan that took methodical steps to succeed.

One thing he was sure of, though, was that so long as he was uncertain, there was no way in hell she would be allowed near Charles.

That's what Charles was here for, of course: to be protected; and it would be quite careless of him to leave Charles in the hands of a possible time-bomb.

"Erik!" Charles spoke again, glaring. "That's not fair."

His eyes snapped to Charles. " _Because_ , Charles. She isn't _safe_. She isn't reliable and I don't- I can't have her alone with you."

Charles scoffed. "Are you _serious_? _This_ is your basis? _This_ is your excuse?" He threw off the blankets and tried to throw his legs over the side of the bed.

Erik rolled his eyes as he watched Charles flail a bit before he tugged on the metal 'bracelet' and Charles was sprawled out on his back.

Instead of a sound of indignance or anger, Erik heard a sound he hadn't heard for a very long time: laughter. To be precise, _Charles's_ laughter. It was a wicked one, but it was honest and wholly unrestricted. Charles was shaking with the power of it and he was even tilting his head back.

Erik relished in it for a moment, letting it sink into his skin and all the way down to his bones. Even without his telepathy, Charles had a way of broadcasting. Charles's happiness - though it was sparse at the mansion throughout those short weeks - could be felt, like a warm gust of wind or a soft brush of warm fingers on his cheek, as stupid as that was. After that moment passed and Charles's laughter came out in uncontrolled splutters, Erik snapped back into himself and took action.

"Have you gone insane, Charles?" Erik asked, trying to keep amusement out of his tone.

The laughter had died down completely by the time Charles answered. "I just find it a bit unfair that you get to use your powers and I don't get to use mine." Charles told him. "I once told you when you reached the middle-ground, you'd be much more powerful than even me. I just don't think it's fair that you were allowed to skip steps."

"Do you miss it?" Erik asked, surprising himself by the sincerity in his. He moved to sit on the chest of horizontal drawers. "Your telepathy, I mean."

Charles bit his lip and Erik felt his something in his chest jolt. "I _am_ perfectly capable without it, you know." he said, but he didn't say it defensively.

Erik nodded. "I _do_ know. You're like a very fierce mouse, Charles."

Charles's eyes widened and, for a second, Erik thought he saw red blotches show up on Charles's cheeks and neck. Erik didn't realize that he _was_ staring at Charles's neck until Charles spoke again.

"I'm not a-a . . .  _mouse,_ as you so respectfully claimed. And even if I was: mice are very . . . efficient." Charles looked up at him through his lashes.

Erik stared, hard. Was Charles . . . No. Charles wouldn't; not now, and not with Erik. Charles flirted shamelessly with women when they were on the recruitment trip and did nothing to discourage Miora's little crush on him.

 _But he never indulged it either._ A voice in his head countered.

And, Erik thought,  Miora was just Charles's type. Smart - aside from the fact she shot metal bullets at a _metal bender_ ; kind _-_ despite the fact that she shot Charles; and stubborn in all  the worst ways.

_Exactly Charles's type, and yet he did nothing about it._

Then again, maybe Charles didn't consider her his type. He knew that sometimes people decided on partners who were quite opposite themselves, ones that had nothing in common with them; ones that challenged them, fought with them: ones that showed them a different view and gave them _hope_ . . .

Erik swallowed. He plastered a passive look on his face while his insides were seared and turned in ways he knew couldn't be safe. Maybe it was his turn to go out on a ledge and . . .

"I suppose . . . they are." He forced a smirk, both nervous enough to shake and yet . . . strangely . . . _eager._ "You would be a very _verlockend_ mouse."

And Erik was worried that Charles was in his head again because all of the red spots seemed to band together to create a very red and steamed looking Charles. He couldn't _feel_ him, though, so Erik assumed he was safe. 

 "I think you forget, _Erik_ , that I'm a professor of genetics, not a linguist." Erik opened his mouth, feeling heat spread across the center of his chest. He heard Charles speak again. "Though, I'm not completely clueless . . . _Hai_."

A _shark_.

Erik had now been reduced to a _shark_ in Charles's mind.

Well, it was better than an empty space.

Charles considered him.

He considered him enough to talk to him . . . To _flirt_ with him.

Charles _considered_ him. And that fact alone filled him with a blinding . . . **_something_**. Joy, relief: they seemed like valuable synonyms for whatever was happening to him.

It filled him up. It pulled his stomach down to the floor and then threw itself back into his abdomen. He could feel it, now, bursting apart right beneath his lungs, molding itself back together and pushing him forward. He felt like he could destroy everything and conquer the world, hold it in the palm of his hands and just-

There was nothing he couldn't do with this _'something'_ inside of him.

And he had heard about this feeling before. He knew none of those instances were nearly as . . . _intense_ as what he was feeling now. Those people had used mediocre words like _'adoration'_ and _'lust'_ and _'obsession'_ and . . .

_CLANG!_

There was a loud shift in his mind like, a hammer coming down to wipe out the old. The sound could only be described as a _'CLANG!'_. Well . . . more like there were several of them all on top of each other.

_CLANG!_

He didn't trust other people with Charles. It was true even back when they stayed with the CIA. After Charles pulled him from the water, he felt agitated when Charles was alone with an agent or when one huddled him in the corner to whisper about the mission he didn't know he would be apart of. He didn't trust Charles with _Raven_ , either, because he saw a darkness in her which drove her, and he knew what a darkness like that did to someone. And now, he didn't trust Emma Frost.

_CLANG!_

He wanted it to be just him and Charles. When they recruited the team, Erik wanted to be alone with Charles. Partly because he was coming to terms with the fact that the CIA presence was bothering him, partly he wanted to figure Charles out. He wanted to figure out why someone as powerful as Charles would trust these random people. Why someone  as smart as Charles would sleep in a location known to possible enemies.

He wanted to _figure Charles out_. What's more: he wanted Charles to figure him out.

_CLANG!_

Charles taught him. Charles showed him things about himself he didn't know he _had_ and gave him things he didn't know he needed. Charles paved paths for him he didn't know existed - even if he didn't take any of them.

_CLANG!_

He missed him.

Erik put that helmet on and it was as if Charles had died. Erik felt cold, then; focused but cold. And he knew deep down that he couldn't have Charles - clean, naïve, _innocent_ Charles - in his mind as he dipped his hands deeper in the blood that had been seeping through to his bones. And from the moment that Charles was no longer there - an anchor when he needed, a sanctuary he could look in on; the high rode to the white light if he needed - and he missed him.

He shivered, sometimes, with how much he _missed_ him.

_CLANG!_

He took Charles.

He took him away from whatever life he was living with Alex and Hank and Sean. He simply picked him up and dropped him in this safe-house with what remained of his sister, his friend who betrayed him in the most intimate way, and some random woman who sort of tried to kill him one time.

And he did that, as he convinced himself, to protect Charles. He did it so that every threat would literally have to go through Erik first before they got to Charles; so that there would be no reason to worry. He did it because it was the closest thing to picking Charles up, shrinking him down, and putting Charles in his rib-cage.

He did it because he was going crazy without Charles there, in his head, in his line of sight, breathing within arm's reach. Hell, he practically turned their last safe-house into a chrome wonderland because he realized he'd put Charles into a wheelchair.

And over the sound of the _CLANG!_ 's, there was something bigger turning in his mind. Something that pulled everything into sharper focus; put everything into perspective. The pressure of it was unbearable but also euphoric.

And . . . _Oh,_ Erik thinks. _That's what this is: I'm in love with him._


	12. Chapter Twelve (SLIGHTLY MATURE)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys:
> 
> THIS CHAPTER IS SLIGHTLY MATURE (only a lil bit.) so if NOT INTO THAT (which I don't know why you wouldn't be because this is about two mutant, gay lovers who've attempted to kill each other multiple times, but whatever) I DON'T WANT TO UPSET ANYBODY SO JUST SKIP OVER THIS ONE AND COMMENT ON HERE OR THE NEXT CHAPTER OR SOMETHING AND I OR SOMEONE ELSE CAN FILL YOU IN.
> 
> Thank you.

**_Charles_ **

 

He didn't mean to; he honestly didn't.

They had continued talking, just like the day before, until it got dark. And, just like the day before, they didn't argue. Not meaningfully, anyways. They didn't talk about politics or foreign policy or civil rights or wars or _anything_. True, they didn't have the immpending doom that was Sabastian Shaw hanging above their heads, so the conversations were bound not to hold as much weight.

But Erik was the only one who allowed him to feel fire.

Hank was a good person to hold intelligent conversations with. Ones of logic and science and health. He made sure all of his words had reason, but they held the same sterile, eucalyptus cynicism of his mind.

Alex spoke with raw emotions; in reds and fire. Charles had only had a handful of deep conversations with him since they had been living together and he knew Alex had a pretty rough shell, but it only hid some of the most beautiful things inside. There was no denying. But in the same way was Alex faulted: his emotions came out whenever he spoke. There wasn't much room for taking new views or ideals in.

He wasn't one for big discussions.

And Sean was too shy to get much out of at all. He was in his head a lot and didn't like to be disturbed and Charles repsected that so he left him alone.

 _Admirable self-restraint_ , that's what he told Raven. He had held himself back this whole time, dodging question after personal, probing question about his life and Raven and the mansion and his family.

It started with the whole _Maus_ comment, and the only way Charles could defend himself was to say that he had always been short and to say that his father had always been short.

And Erik would have probably let it alone at that.

So would have Charles.

But then Erik had broken out the scotch and, over the brim of his glass, he added, "Well, at least what I remember of him." Which led Erik to ask - obviously surprised yet hesitant and careful - what had happened to Charles's parents.

And Charles, the stoic bastard that he was, let out a brooding sigh and said, "Didn't really have any to begin with." And immediately, he wanted to cut his tongue out, because Erik crinkled his eyebrows with obvious confusionbehind them and said, "You didn't tell me you were adopted."

And as he downed the rest of his glass with a slow, stalling sip, his paranoid: _Oh my god why is this happening?_ turned into a careless, _What the hell? How could this get any worse?_

He was always an easy drunk.

"I wasn't." he said, pouring himself another glass from the bottle on the tray. "It may have felt something time to time, but I wasn't."

Erik took his own pull. "But Raven was?" he asked, putting his feet back up on the edge of the bed.

Charles's vision was starting to get fuzzy around the edges as the rest of the second glass drained into his throat. "Well that's a completely different story. Not mine to tell."

And it just went on like that until he couldn't remember anything.

At some point in the night, a little clarity but even smaller control slammed its way into Charles's mind.

"I can undress people with my mind. Did you know that?" Charles slurred when things started to turn and get fuzzy.

The logical side of him had been drown out by around his third glass and now he was finishing his fifth, which wasn't beginning to taste the same as the others.

Erik was just staring at him, a little bemused and a little shocked. "That's . . . interesting. Maybe you ought to slow down with the whiskey?"

Charles waved his hand. "I'll be fine." He rushed out. "But yeah, I can undress people with my mind! Never did I ever fear public speaking because,if I was nervous, I _could_ imagine the whole auditorium naked! It was amazing."

"I said it was very interesting." Erik repeated the pink in his cheeks getting darker.

Charles smiled, delighted to have been a productive social partner. "I thought so too. And I thought that . . . well . . . friends _tell_ friends interesting things so they can move on and advance in their . . . _interesting-ness_."

Erik raised an eyebrow. "We're friends?" he asked softly, something else in his voice.

Charles thought on this.

Well, Erik wanted him safe, didn't he? Isn't this why they were going on with this whole captivity thing? And, Erik brought him booze, which was more than he could say for the boys (not that he loved them any less). And, he supposed, he would want Erik safe as well, if the situation were reverse (well, if the situation were reverse, Charles probably wouldn't kidnap Erik, but the _feeling_ itself was mutual).

He wanted the best for Erik, he knew that. He wanted to see Erik do something good with his life, and Erik must have wanted the same for him, because he was fighting to _make sure_ Charles _had_ a life to go on with instead of letting a potential enemy potentially get thrown off the scale.

Or he just felt guilty.

Either way, he was doing this, at least.

So, yeah, they were friends. Or something. But _some_ thing was better than _nothing_ , so he had learned throughout his life.

He sighed. "Wouldn't you say? After all this, I don't think I couldn't be friends with you. Do I hate you? Slightly. But you not being the man I know you can be? That's out of my hands."

Erik drained his glass, and it seemed that he was not the least bit drunk. "I did put a bullet in your spine." he remarked.

"You _did_ do that." Charles agreed flatly, causing Erik's head to whip up at him. "But," Charles continued, clearly seeing the fear in Erik's eyes. "I don't blame you. You were trying to defend yourself."

"You've said this before. I just-"

"Think of it like this, since you're so willing to brood about it and guilt yourself out of good oppurtunities." Charles said, the haze in his mind cleary more and more each minute. He poured himself a drink. "I would have been more willing to take the bullet anyway. My back was better than your chest."

Erik just nodded.

And there was silence.

Not for that long, but it was there; heavy and potent. Charles drank two or three more glasses, using his powers a little to help himself to the blessing of drunken oblivion.

"I've undressed you with my mind before." was the last thing he caught himself saying before the night became a complete blur.

 

**_Erik_ **

 

Erik's body was on _fire_.

Not as hot as the hell it had been thrown into when Charles had informed him that he had undressed everyone in his biology class in his year at Oxford and ended up having to leave because of a slight . . . discomfort . . . in his pressed trousers.

It was even worse when Erik had learned that Charles had imagined _him_ undressed.

After having switched out Charles's scotches with cola - because Charles had been too pissed himself to notice the difference obviously - he could sense the man was beginning to sober up. At Charles's first yawn and eye rub, Erik was all too eager to tuck him into bed and say goodnight.

It's exactly what he ended up doing because he didn't think he'd be able to explain to Charles - to a drunken, telepathically-handicap Charles no less - why he was having the same discomfort in his black leather pants.

As soon as his head hit the pillow, Charles was asleep. Erik barely whispered out a _thank god,_ before rushing down the hallway into his own room.

He was aching by the time the door closed. Never had he so wanted to touch . . . _to_ _be **touched**. _ His sexual encounters were few and Shaw carved his awkward sexual adolescence out of him, so this was new. He _wanted_ . . . he didn't know what he wanted. His pants were so tight that with every step or twitch in his legs, a pleasurable, boarding painful jolt was sent throughout his body.

And for a few moments after locking the door with the flick of his wrist, he unashamedly writhed against the air with his back to the door.

Friction; it was clear enough that he needed friction.

In his subconscious, a smaller version of himself -- that had been present only days ago when he gave an order to his team that they were going to get Charles -- was laughing at this mess of heat and desire that said man had made without even knowing it. The same part was insisting that Charles was drunk already and that he should just go back in there and fuck him until he felt better. Charles, after all, was his prisoner.

But he knew better than that. He knew that not only would Charles hate him in the morning and that he probably didn't even feel the same way, but the idea didn't even sound appealing: ravishing Charles against his will. The ravishing sounded amazing, actually; awe-inspiring. But he wanted Charles willing. He wanted Charles . . .

_. . . On his knees. Charles was on his knees and inching closer . . ._

Flickers. Flickers of images and slivers of memories that hadn't yet been made were forcing themselves to the fore-front of Erik's mind.

_Charles's lips that were always so ridiculously red were now doing very sinful things that Erik feel even more heated and--_

Erik groaned and took four big strides and threw himself onto his own four-poster, clawing his pants off, powers forgotten in his lust-filled stupor.

_Charles was beneath him, moaning something incoherent that only made Erik want to keep going and going. He could feel nails scrape down his back and he sighed, taking Charles's lips again while the man moaned into Erik's mouth._

There was too much movement for the slightly drunken Erik to know exactly what was going on. His hands didn't know what to do and he thought he was going to melt from--

_Charles's blue eyes were looking up at him as he dragged Erik to the edge of euphoria with him. Unlike the other times, this was painful or fake. They were here, in this; together._

_Charles lifted up his hand and smoothed hair away from Erik's face. The touch reminded Erik of Charles's mental connection; soft, yet sturdy._

_Safe._

_'Erik' It was Charles. apparently they were connected in the mind as well as the body._

_"Erik." Charles whispered and--_

Erik was brought over the edge -- messily -- without taking off his boxers. He collapsed heavily onto his bed all the way, moving the blanket with his powers and a forgotten paper-clip on the bedside table to cover his whole body.

He would evaluate this in the morning: his feelings, the fantasy, how only a simply discussion with Charles got him this wrecked.

But for now, he would sleep.

 

**_Third Point of View_ **

 

_Meanwhile, down the hall, Charles was sat up in bed, spine ram-rod straight, panting and sticky with sweat and cum._

_He had **reached** **out**. _

_He had gotten into Erik's mind, somehow. And if for a second he had thought it was a dream, he had wet boxers and ruined sheets to prove the contrary._

_He couldn't steady his breath. He tried breathing through his nose and mouth, but that only made it worse, if anything. The focus it took for him to be able to do that made this all real; made everything real._

_The dream -- fantasy, since he was awake -- was Erik's._

_He knew that for sure._

_And he also knew he should have gotten out of it at first glance had his own celebration. He should have relished in his new telepathic findings, maybe even reached out to Raven and let her know._ _Something._

_But his half-drunken mind decided that that wouldn't be_ fun _and that, since it_ was _a dream about him, he should be able to at least_ **watch** _ **.** _

_He was sick._

_And that's all it was. He could feel Erik faze in and out of it, distracted by something or another._

_But then Erik's **desire** hit him. It hit him like oncoming traffic on the highway. _ _It was white-hot and painful and the sweetest thing he had ever felt. He had had many flings with various different people, but never in his life had he ever felt this strong of a need to be touch . . . to **touch**._

_And he couldn't explain it or how it happened, but somehow he ended up twisted in the sheets -- his legs at odd angles that would never be possible for a person not in his condition -- rutting against anything that would give him the hardest friction. His moves were jerky and painful but the blinding, holy prospect of what this would end in seemed worth it._

_And it was._

_Watching Erik pull him over the edge was something else entirely. He felt completely disconnected from what was happening, yet so involved as well._

_He didn't know what he was thinking or if he was even trying, but suddenly the him-who-was-filled-with-Erik moved a piece of hair out of Erik's face._

_And that touch -- as physical as it was mental in a way -- was what pushed Charles over the edge._

_He wouldn't know till later that it was he, not the fantasy that whispered Erik's name as he spilled over._

_And afterwards, he could nothing but sleep. He wanted to think about it; about what he saw through the touch, about his telepathy working again, about why the hell Erik was having those thoughts (which had already, sort of, been explained through what he saw)._

_But for now, he could only sleep._

 


	13. Chapter Thirteen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Charles and Raven are five years old and Erik and Emma have a nice little chat.

**_Charles_ **

 

He didn't leave the bed until the sun was at its highest. He'd been a awake for much longer than that (he had been up since six, when Erik had snuck out of the house; shame, guilt, curiosity, and (still) arousal pulling Charles out of his own uneasy sleep) but he was just sitting there. In the corner, behind the door, there was a shiny, _metal_ wheelchair staring himself in the face and a note on his bedside table reading:

_Charles,_

_Ring for Emma or I when you wake up. You reached out last night. We need to talk._

_I love you._

_\- Raven_

He had read it and re-read it over and over again.

So . . . it _wasn't_ a dream; he had his telepathy back. Usually, after a session in Cerebro like the other day, Charles telepathy didn't return for a much longer time. It took a lot out of him since his injury. His range was considerably better, no doubt, but each time he used it, his 'dry spells' lasted longer and longer. He didn't mind much and he didn't let on too terribly to Hank, but he was afraid that anymore usage of the machine would cause him further damage.

He sighed. He couldn't just sit there all day, thinking. There were things to figure out, and he didn't want to rely on his sister or Emma to do things for him.

But how was he supposed to call them? He couldn't _feel_ them. He couldn't even hear a rustle throughout the house, telepathically or otherwise.

 _Raven?_ He tried, hoping that maybe-

_Charles! It's about time! I was getting worried. Are you ready for visitors?_

Before he couldn't even think of answer or celebrate the fact that there was a response, her stark blue form was standing right in front of him.

"Raven!" he scolded. "A little more warning next time?"

She just smiled and lifted up her and pointed it at the corner behind the door. "Sorry, but I've been trying to figure out camouflage! I wanted to know if I could fool the great," she winced, and he heard a squeak groaned from the wheelchair. "Charles Xavier!" Suddenly, the wheelchair practically flew to her side and bounced off of her hip. "Ow." she muttered, frowning, rubbing her hand over her bone.

He hadn't noticed her fingers turn a cream color and become calloused like her Erik's.

Instead of asking her questions, his hand flew out automatically and brushed over her hip. "How did you do that? What was that?" He asked, sounding more wondered than terrified.

Charles had learned just to accept things that Raven did instead of being accusatory, or fearful about them. Raven was a big girl, he knew, and she could handle herself if it came to that (even though the mere thought of her _having_ to do that made his skin crawl). However, he had lost his sister once, he wasn't doing it again.

She smiled again, very proud of herself, like a peacock pronounce its feathers. "Like it? It's something I've been practicing while I train. A little trick Erik and Emma thought up. They've been teaching me how to adapt to other's powers without completely turning into them."

He frowned, not ever having thought of teaching her this himself, he felt inadequate.

She didn't see it that way. "You don't like it?" she asked dejectedly, but quickly masked it. "I should have expected as much from you. I don't know _why_ I thought--"

"Raven," he interrupted. "I'm very much impressed and very proud of you. I'm glad you're improving."

Her face lit up. "I'm glad you're starting to see the light, Charles." She moved forward and flung the covers off of him. "How's about you and I go _down_ stairs to eat breakfast?"

She slid the chair forward and offered him her hand, but he pushed it away softly. It was his turn to show her tricks.

He pushed himself all the way to the edge of the bed and swung his legs over the side. Within the last couple of weeks, he had begun to feel a little in his toes. Nothing big, just temperature changes and general sensations. However, it was progress. But the cold hardwood floors of the very organized room did nothing to his exposed feet.

"Are the breaks on?" he asked, feeling his heart rate pick up. He had only done this one other time in front of only Hank for a procedure, and even with the reassurance from the unfeeling scientist, he was uncertain.

She nodded. "All part of the show. They're very secure, too, so don't worry."

He smiled, not showing an ounce of his nervousness. "I know. You wouldn't let me near it thing if there was a chance of malfunction."

He sucked in a tight breath and pushed off of the bed.

He stood, only for a moment, and it felt like he was invincible. It felt like he could simply walk out of the room like he had never taken injury in the first place. Like he could just brush off all the exhausting lessons and demonstrations on handicap equipment and the lifestyle in one sweeping gait of his legs. With the feel, thousands of memories washed through him at once: running with Hank, extinguishing Alex's fires, running after Erik in Russia, running away from--

He fell, only in a moment, and everything was gone. It seemed that _That Man_ had a lot more power over Charles, even now, than he realized.

He fell sideways and his hip was aching, but he let a bit of pride swell with every beating throb.

"Charles?" Raven was behind the chair, unbelieving and surprised. "Charles, I thought you were-"

He smiled. "I am." he told her. "That was just a little trick."

She grinned. "I hate him, you know, for what he's done to you." she told him, her voice sickly sweet. "This shouldn't be an accomplishment; you shouldn't even _be_ here. I _hate_ him."

"Raven, don't talk like that." he warned softly, more concerned than cautious. "Now, what happened that day was an accident. No one was aiming for me; I just got caught in the line of fire."

And that seemed to happen to him a lot, and he was surprised she didn't say so.

She just shook her head, her mouth now a grim line. "Let's just get going before the coffee gets cold."

She pushed him out the door, and as she rolled him down the hall, he didn't tell her about he always liked to do this himself.

 

**_Erik_ **

 

He wasn't hiding. He wasn't hiding, and Emma Frost probably didn't eat the hearts of the men who'd crossed her. Of course, though, he wasn't even on his own property, where he was, so he didn't know if that classified as hiding.

He didn't know why he bothered. He wouldn't be able to stay away for long, anyways, whether it be of his own conscience, Frost's accusations, or Raven nagging. (Wholly ironic was the nagging, though, because in recent weeks, she had loathed the man and been missing her brother, and now that she had him, she criticizing Erik more than ever.)

But for now, he was in the middle of the small town on the edge of the forest and tucked neatly between a long range of mountains. It wasn't even a town, really, but there was a store and a coffee house and a library and a few restaurants and diners, so he supposed he should give it the respect of calling it that.

It was a nice little place. When he wasn't worried Charles would telepathically persuade, communicate, or control someone to fight Erik or his team, Erik had already decided that he would take Charles to the town. He had yet to show Charles the extensive library in Shaw's safe-house, let alone the one in town that he knew Charles would appreciate almost as much.

Despite his personality, Erik loved nature.The mountains, though he was hesitant to use the word, were beautiful, and he relished in the stark, pine smell caused by the mixture of severe cold and pine trees. There was a wide open sky to greet him whenever he bothered to go outside or look out a window. (Not that they had been there long, but it was still the absolute truth.) The air was almost always crisp and it was almost always quiet.

It reminded him of Charles.

He sighed, turning up his collar as a gust of freezing wind brushed up against him.

He should be thinking about the night before. He should be trying to figure things out and trying to make sure that he was under control if the temporary alloy was going to be wearing off soon. Also, he didn't need Charles's first night out of the room to be filled with shock and Erik's desires.

Tension was not Charles's strong suit.

But what had it meant? All of it? A week ago he was one hundred percent confident in his feelings for Charles, but now that Charles was right in front of him -- literally meters away at night -- he was drawing blanks. He was insecure and guilty and defensive and all for the wrong reasons.

He would never lay a hurtful hand on Charles, but it seemed after every conversation, Charles was left smaller and hurt. Of course last night hadn't been totally counter-productive (one might say _nice_ if they didn't consider Erik's state of dishevelment towards the end) but it still wasn't what he wanted from Charles. The way it used to be wasn't a good way to describe what he wanted, but it was a good start.

"Brooding looks as good on you as the helmet, honey." A voice spoke, pulling Erik out of his thoughts.

Emma was the only one who he had ever deliberately thought about killing besides Shaw.

"Careful," she said, nodding to an empty park. "You'll put someone's eye out with a thought like that."

Before he could respond, she grabbed his arm and lead him over to the park she had pointed out across the street.

Of course, the one day he decided not to wear the helmet also fell upon the day he couldn't escape Emma Frost.

He put up his mental walls and glared daggers at her.

"What are you doing here?" he hissed at her as she sat them down on a frosty park bench.

They stared out over a plain soccer field that was devoid of it's main inhabitants: children. He supposed that normal children had to be in school at noon in the middle of winter, but never having the same opportunity, he wouldn't know.

She chuckled. "Co-workers often join each other on lunch break, and if I'm being honest, you need more friends." she quipped, but if he could remember right, he had never seen Emma Frost eat a day since they had started living together. Then again, he took great care to _not_ become invested in her habits, as they might get in the way of achieving his goals.

He glared at her, her white coat and boots almost blinding. "I am not your co-worker, I am your superior. And you are not my friend."

Well if she wasn't his friend, he didn't know who was. True, she wasn't trustworthy and probably had her own motives for fighting alongside him and even being with Raven. However, she was the closest thing to honest and stable he had had since he started considering Charles the light of his life. Azazel didn't speak unless a mission called for it, and Janos, he theorized, didn't even have a tongue.

But she didn't need to know that.

She scoffed, crossing her legs and folding her hands in her lap. "You may put on a show for Mystique and I may follow, but we both know that even if you tried to get the upper hand it wouldn't work. It may . . . frustrate your masculinity, but you can't control me. Trying will get you nowhere."

She had on white rimmed sun-glasses as well, and he wondered if she could see anything out of them.

"Is that what you told Shaw?" he asked, as icy as the crystallized tree to her left.

He was wearing black jeans and a leather jacket. He decided that morning, that if he were to go out without a helmet, he should do without the cape as well.

And maybe, just maybe, he had also decided to look for some of that hope Charles seems to see in the humans, not that he'd ever admit to it.

When he looked back at her, he noticed her mouth pressed together, as if she were concentrating very hard. "I'm sorry, I suppose, for interrupting you. I know that you wanted to be alone. Actually, I could sense It from about four o' clock this morning."

He tensed and looked away, hoping that she hadn't _sensed_ anything else within that time-period. No, his little mind-rendezvous with dream-Charles had not ended with one round.

"I'm glad you're using your freedom _wisely_."

She smirked. "I see you and Charles made up."

"What?" He didn't not turn to her, but his eyes widened behind his own sun-glasses.

She scoffed. "Don't act so innocent. His room smells like a whore-house, Raven isn't into incest, and I don't enjoy brunettes."

Erik drew a blank. He didn't know if this was behind or in-front of his walls, but he couldn't help but think . . . Was it possible that while he was dreaming of Charles . . .?

Emma flinched suddenly. "There weren't any tissues either, but if you could stop thinking of it in _color_ that would be nice." she said pained, laying her hands flat on the bench.

Though he was embarrassed to have his thoughts and his . . . _thoughts_ privy to her like that, he smirked. Seeing Emma Frost flustered was never something he ever even _considered_ to put on his bucket list.

"What do _you_ care?" He meant to say something chiding or smug, and instead it came out harsh and defensive. Even in the hypothetical, it seemed, he wouldn't degrade Charles.

She cocked her head slightly to the side as a young woman pushed a sleeping, cocooned child in a stroller. "Well, aside from the fact that your lover has this whole, 'innocent-librarian/disheveled-puppy' thing going on, I'd rather not think of him in the X-rated persuasion."

Erik let out a hearty chuckle, wanting to dissuade her from thinking that Charles was, in anyway, his, but also not wanting to miss an opportunity to one-up her and keep digging.

Charles would understand his need to solve the mystery that was Emma Frost.

There was one question in particular. "Do you really love her?"

He was afraid of the answer. He didn't know if Raven loved Emma, but if Emma didn't love Raven . . . Didn't he had some obligation to warn the girl? Whether it be his feelings for Charles compelling him, or the fact that he was the one to tear her away from stability in the first place, shouldn't he warn her that she was being fooled by the queen of Ulterior Motives?

Emma turned to him with her eyebrows scrunched in what he could only assume was a glare behind those glasses. "Do you really love _him_?" she asked sharply. It was rhetorical or deflection; he couldn't decide which.

He didn't have time.

"We're alike in more ways than you think, Lensherr, whether you like it or not." she looked out over an iced-over pond, not thirty feet away, like it was a possible escape route. "You weren't Shaw's only monster he created out of ambition."

 _Why are you telling me this?_ He sent her, because he was beginning to expect a death sentence to come along with whatever story this would lead to.

She didn't send anything back

"I do, if that answers your question. More than I think you or I could fathom if we put our heads to it. And that scares me about as much as yours scares you. She . . . humbles me, I like to think." she smiled, albeit faintly, but it was the first genuine one he had seen from her since they had met. "I'm a sociopath, you know, and when we . . . _fall in love_ . . . _it_ tends to be _quite_ the phenomenon."

Erik smirked, not daring to look at her and remind himself that this was _Emma Frost_ and she was practically professing her love for a woman he wasn't even sure knew what love was.

"This is the first time, I think, that I have ever heard you sound uncertain." he told her.

"Pretending to know everything is a very hard job to uphold." she sighed. "Doubt me all you like. Be wary of my motives all you want and make sure to sleep with one eye open if you wish, but just know that I would only do _anything_ for one person in the world and that's her. Anything I do or say is for her, and if I didn't think it would help her or make her happy, I wouldn't do it." she nodded her head to a passing jogger who seemed to be slacking just a bit. "As my _boss_ , I feel like you might want that information for future reference."

He nodded, not really knowing what to do with all of this secrecy she was pouring over him.

But to clarify: "You would sacrifice yourself for her?" he asked.

"I would sacrifice _the world_ for her." Without hesitation, or emotion. "Without a thought." She added. "And if it would make her smile, I would happily set fire to all the continents."

He nodded, peered at the pond now, once again wishing he had Havoc's powers so he could make _anything_ _else_ happen.

But then he drew a line.

"So you defend Charles to me . . . And you _help_ him . . . And you _scold_ him . . . "

"Because she cares about him." she finished quickly. "And he raised her and protected her against things that I have no right in sharing with you. For that alone, I am eternally grateful. And he's . . . _likeable_. Charming, even."

He drew another line.

"And you help me, not because of me, but because-"

"See, you're thinking too much." She turned to him, leaned against the back of the bench for the first time since they had sat down, and ducked her head to meet his eyes. "I told you, we were stitched from the skin, you and I." she cocked her head to the side. "Well, tortured by the same Nazi-scientist, if you will. I would like to see my people, my brother's and sister succeed. His happiness affects hers, so it matters more. But yours still counts.

"I've a feeling you need someone in your corner, and while I'm not the natural empath, I feel like I could be there." she finished.

Erik scoffed. "You do realize that Mystique hates me, right?"

As much as it made him wonder, it was true. At least, it had been true since Charles had arrived.

Emma chuckled and shook her head. "It's all just buff. She's trying to show off for her big brother. She hates what you've done to him, and that there isn't much room for him to do anything about it, but she doesn't hate you. Doesn't like you as much as Charles, and doesn't understand what Charles sees in you, but she doesn't hate. She would have left by now."

Erik had nothing to say, and it appeared neither did Emma.

This was all too much for him, he realized with a start. She was giving more than just sustenance for his petty curiosity and more than just advice. And he realized that he should be asking her about Shaw and some of Shaw's enemies and what Shaw did to her and what loyalties she had for him, but he just couldn't get it out. And it seemed now, that there were only two people on planet Earth that could render him speechless in a good way: Charles and Emma. And he wasn't even certain his definition of _good_ was universal.

They were friends now, or confidants, at least. He seemed to be the only one who felt a little wary of this, but what other choice did he have? None, in reality, and he knew that, because nothing else _worked_.

He understood her, too, which was disconcerting in and of itself. He just find out that Charles had been injured by his own hands had sent him on a not-so-borderline violent bender. It was only logic to assume that if he could turn a mansion into a futuristic, metallic wonderland, he would easily tear down the world down for Charles. Continents were nothing compared to Charles's eyes, and nations had nothing on his ideals.

He didn't know how much time Emma had allotted him to organize himself before she stood up and looked down at him passively.

"He's got his powers back, now, if you haven't noticed. He reached out to Raven this last night in some sort of drunken . . . " She pinched the bridge of her nose, annoyed either by the thought of Charles reaching out or by the state of Erik on the bench. "We're not completely sure; she couldn't make much sense of it. I don't know why you made it temporary. Telepath like Charles could have easily burst through the boundaries of a permanent one."

He nodded. He could deal with that. He was planning on explaining it all to Charles that day, actually, but he just wasn't ready yet. Had he talked about the helmet yet? Had he been there yet? That's an argument he didn't know if he was ready for yet.

"Shall I tell them to expect you for dinner?"

And Erik nodded again, because, like he had said before, whether it be Raven's nagging, Emma's accusations, or his own sub-conscious, he could stay away for very long.

She nodded. "And don't freeze to death, Lensherr, if you can. I don't even want to _imagine_ what hypothermia looks like with those soulless eyes."

And then she quietly stalked off.


	14. Chapter Fourteen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Erik needs to calm down.

**_Charles_ **

 

Raven was as enthusiastic about Charles being out of the room and being able to use his telepathy as she was wary about it. He hadn't really expected that, what with her new found confidence. Feeling her bubbling excitement simmer under the blank wall she usually kept up around him, he started asking questions right away about the house, about her life, about anything but the room and Erik.

The missions were good, she explained. She couldn't tell him much about them, really, though, because she didn't know what was off limits and what wasn't. She didn't get to thoroughly catalogue all the violence she had been partaking in, and he wanted to reprimand her, but she looked so happy at her accomplishments that he just didn't have the heart to.

Emma made her happy, Raven told him. She didn't share too much information on that either because Charles was her brother, not a random friend that she could unload all the eye-gouging details to off-handedly over coffee. He didn't want to be scarred for life. She did inform him that she was happy, though, and that they were serious. Emma loved her skin and adored her while Raven cherished Emma, and while it was all sweet enough to give Charles cavities, he was truly, very happy for his sister.

It was when they were headed towards the kitchen from the other end of the house that it got tense and it was obvious they were dancing the subject.

 _Are you going to stop avoiding it now?_ Raven sent him tentatively.

He sent waves of reassurance before he spoke. "Would _you_ like to stop avoiding it?" he countered, twisting around a little to catch her eye. "You'd know better than I would why I was able to push through the alloy."

She sighed. "It's . . . . you can _not_ tell Erik I told you this . . . But the alloy's temporary. It's supposed to be, anyways."

Charles raised an eyebrow. "Why would I be put in a _temporary_ holding room if Erik didn't trust me to brainwash the rest of you?"

He could  _hear_ Raven's cheekiness. "Oh, Charles, if only you weren't so _naïve_ . . ."

Charles pursed his lips. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Well," she started, taking a turn at the final end of the corridor. "If you would maybe _squint_ , you could see that you are the _only_ one that Erik trusts. Since I've been with him, he has hardly said a kind word. Not that he's been cruel," she rushed, knowing that if she let his mind wander too far, she would get blamed for the fight that would ensue. "But he doesn't talk like he used to. He doesn't really use adjectives. You left, and suddenly, the world was black and white with no room for grey areas."

Charles blushed, sinking back in his chair a little bit. He didn't know he could mean so much to a person.

Of course he and Raven were close, but half of the memories he had given her were false, and the other half he had pulled from a hidden place in her mind and simply bled himself into it. And she didn't even know that, so the devotion was almost false on her part.

And he hated that.

With the children, he could see where they might be grateful or look up to him, but he knew that one day they would move on in the world and forget him.

But Erik . . . What had he done for Erik? Surely he wasn't the man's only friend, especially now? Gratitude being paid for saving his life? Hardly. And Charles didn't even think of that anymore.

So much had changed since then . . .

He had done nothing for Erik, really, except what his character was entitled to.

Could he talk about that with Raven? Could he even talk about that with Erik?

Fuck it.

"Why? How do you know?" He asked simply, as they rolled along another aimless hallway.

"I'm not really sure." He could sense that she herself was very unsure by the tone in her voice, and that her brows were probably crinkled with trying to locate a memory or something to present him as proof.

She dropped a mental shield, and Charles saw that as a welcome to follow her.

Her mind was much different now than when he left it; the second layer was, anyways. He had once described her mind as deep, purple, cool velvet; soft, red and pink lights all around and a generally calming, yet equally enthusiastic environment.

Endearing.

But now, things were different.

Instead of wide, open space for ideas and humor and almost childish ideals, now there were slowly closing boxes of strict beliefs. Her mind was not as open as it once been. He almost didn't feel welcomed in there. He shouldn't have been surprised, what with her living in an entire mansion full of people believing in the same core beliefs all at once. Not much room for reformation.

Her mutation, after all, was to blend.

Not quite cynical, yet not empathetic, her mind was almost that of an untrained soldier.

"Is he planning to use me?" Charles asked. The question had been nagging at him, but he didn't want to seem paranoid.

They had reached another corridor.

Raven stopped pushing and came to kneel before Charles. "He doesn't see you as an enemy. He knows he can't make you do anything that you don't want to, but aside form that, I don't think I have much to offer. I told you, he's very secretive now. Doesn't let much out. If you had another heart-to-heart with Emma, you might get more information." She leant forward and kissed his forehead gently. "Now stop being a maudlin fool and let's get you down the stairs. You must be dying for a good cup of tea."

And they didn't speak of Erik, or the house, or mutations, or schools, or anything for the rest of the day.

* * *

It was hours later that Emma and Erik came back, both looking frozen to death.

The kitchen was next to the front door, which was on the first level. The house was not as large as Charles once thought, but the wood and marble made everything seem cold and distant, much like the mansion back in New York. 

He didn't mind.

Charles had been shown his new, alloy-free room during the day, which was on the first floor. A lot of his things were in it, and he was most grateful that at least something look familiar.

He still had a canopy bed and the walls and ceiling were still wood, but now he had a larger window and desk in the corner and a book case by his closet which was full of his own clothes. He had his own bathroom as well, which had a series of ramps and rails he knew he would need to learn to adjust to.

He and Raven had done _normal_ things all day, which was more refreshing than not. They talked, argued, and laughed all day long, not once leaving the kitchen. He was beginning to wonder, though, whether this was done on purpose, like he wasn't supposed to see any more than he had to. He wouldn't blame them for not trusting him, but it was equally true that he didn't want to be stuck here for as long as Erik decided and simply be confined to his bedroom and the kitchen.

He didn't bring it up.

But when the door slammed open and shut almost all in one motion and a frosty Erik and a shivering Emma crawled through, out of breath and looking very upset. Emma quickly marched away from Erik over to Raven, grabbing her hand and leading her up a staircase to their left that Charles hadn't noticed.

Erik didn't move when the small door to the staircase closed. He was still panting, but he was just looking at Charles as Charles looked at him.

"I don't want to fight anymore." Erik panted out suddenly, a very intense gaze. "We need to talk; tomorrow. But I don't want to fight anymore."

Charles just nodded, suddenly finding himself weary.

"And you need to trust me." Erik said also, beginning towards the kitchen but stopping shortly when Charles's eyes snapped to his shoes. "I thought you didn't and I thought it would work that way, but you do. Soon."

Charles nodded again, this time slower. He had once asked Erik too, to trust him prematurely. It felt risky and he'd feel exposed, but Erik was within his rights to at least ask Charles to trust him.

Erik nodded once and started to the stairs. _I'm sorry._

Charles wheeled over to the sink and rinsed their dishes. _I'll forgive you._

Erik opened the door to his room, last door to the right. _I miss you._

Charles opened the door to his room, last door on the left. _I know._

 

**_Erik_ **

 

Erik was the one to wake Charles up the next day. He assumed it was very disappointing to Charles, but he couldn't know for sure, what with the helmet and all.

He had had Raven set up this room after he had modified the temporary one, but didn't like it due to the lack of metal. Almost the whole room - excluding small screws and hinges - was completely silent, but Charles's wheelchair was like a siren's song against it all.

He crept in slowly, not really knowing how to properly wake someone up but not wanting to wake Charles up obnoxiously. He had missed the sight of Charles sleeping, having gotten an eyeful when they took their recruitment road-trip.

It was slightly unnerving - watching Charles sleep. He couldn't really put his finger on why. Maybe, Erik had once explored, it was because he was so used to seeing dead bodies looking like peaceful dreamers. The look didn't fit Charles at all. Charles was so vibrant and so alive, that seeing his eyes closed like that was a bit surreal. Erik missed his eyes most of all . . .

He shook his head at the sight. Charles's legs were placed in a very odd position that wouldn't be comfortable - or possible, really - to someone who could actually feel his toes. He twisted at the hips, and if you only looked from there up, you could only see a quiet man laying peaceful on his folded hands with a slight smile on his face and tousled hair.

He had to wake Charles up, he decided, before he shook off the helmet and crawled into bed with him.

He knelt down softly next to the bed and reached his hands out to-

"Good morning, Erik."

Charles rolled over and Erik stepped back a few feet, very surprised. "How did you-"

Charles chuckled lightly, rubbing his hand over his face while stretching. "Raven stirred as soon as you started pacing this morning in your office. Tip: If you're going to brood about something above the lightest sleeper in the world, do it barefoot."

Finally, Charles cracked an eye open and the world slid back into place.

He was beginning to sit up when Erik spoke again. "Sorry, I didn't know I was-"

Charles waved him off as he put his last pillow in place. "Don't apologize to me. I'm sure there's an amusing hell waiting for you downstairs."

"Amusing for who?" Maybe he'd hang out in Charles's room a bit longer. Dante would have to add an eighth circle of hell if he ever met Mystique in the morning before she had her daily dose of three cups of coffee.

Charles smirked. "Me, of course. After getting the fire and brimstone for years when I needed someone to read my thesis papers to late at night, I'll have more than a good laugh when I see someone else biting it."

Erik sighed dramatically and sat in a chair beside the bed (put there by the devil in question, probably). "I _could_ use you as a human shield."

Charles laughed, still withholding some of it's true sincerity. "You wouldn't." he sighed, rubbing his face again and chuckling dryly again. "And, of course, that would sort of deplete the whole, 'For your own good and safety' thing, wouldn't it?"

Erik cringed a little inwardly, but he knew Charles didn't mean it as a jab . . . At least, he hoped not. His old Charles wouldn't have, anyways.

He outwardly tsked and smirked. "Charles, always trapping me with continuity errors."

"They will be your downfall." Charles remarked, beginning to move to the opposite side of the bed.

A thought occurred to Erik. "I can leave while you get dressed if you wish. Or, if you need help I could--"

Charles turned back for a second and offered a weary smile. "Thanks," He said, heaving his legs over the side of his bed. "But I can get dressed by myself. Might even go for a shower. Are we on any sort of schedule?"

Erik furrowed his brow, wondering how in the hell Charles would be able to manage a shower by himself, and not liking the idea of the probable, negative outcome.

"No," he said, obviously distracted. "Charles, I don't . . . Are you sure you can--"

"Erik, Hank hasn't been dressing me all these months. As far as the shower goes, it shouldn't be too hard. 'M more accustomed to giving myself sponge baths, but I'm sure I'll be fine."

That did nothing to reassure Erik. If anything, it made him want to enlarge the band around Charles's wrist and wrap his body in something Erik could control.

He sighed; he said that he didn't want to argue anymore, and Charles wasn't a prisoner. He couldn't very well _tell_ Charles what to do, nor could he prevent him from doing what he wanted. "Okay, then. If you're sure, I'll be downstairs . . . With Raven . . . Trying not to be obliterated."

There was a laugh shared between the two of them, and in a moment Charles was . . . standing. Standing and sitting in his wheelchair all in the same couple of seconds. He didn't say anything; prepare Erik for the miracle sight of his friend walking. Just stood and sat, like it was his birth-right.

And before Erik could acknowledge it, Charles was speaking. "Erik, I promise you I'll be fine. You can keep your helmet on and travel off-grounds if you please. I'm not weak." Charles stated stubbornly, pulling Erik back to the situation.

"I know you are not weak, Charles. Whether you be paralyzed or broken, you'd never be weak." Erik took a breath and waited for a rebuke. "I will be downstairs. I have no schedule of any kind. Actually, we're traveling the grounds today, if you're up for it." He looked subtly away from Charles, passing a glance at the lamp on the other bedside table.

He may not be used to Charles and he may not feel whole, but he was done being _without_ Charles. From now on, _that_ was non-negotiable, no matter how badly he screwed up. He may not have deserved Charles, but so long as no one better was fighting their way for him or had come to take him away (and Erik would fight back against said people, unless Charles asked him not to probably) he would relish in the fact that _he had Charles back_.

He was used to temporary pleasure, after all. Not prolonged bliss.

When he finally looked back at Charles some seconds later, he was beaming. "I'm definitely up to it. I should be dressed and downstairs in an hour." And he wheeled himself to the connecting bathroom.

Not every room in the house had it's own bathroom (even less of them were built with complete steel underneath the white tile and white carpeting) but he wanted Charles to have privacy and whatever accessibility he needed without having to want to hide it.

Emma had actually helped with the bathroom and Charles's room more than he had anticipated. Not that she knew right when he told her about the new renovations that the room was for Charles, but she knew it was for Charles. She did all the research in private about what would help Charles best to live in the room independently and drew him up plans.

He could feel the click of the door lock behind Charles and could feel Charles through the band moving around and adjusting things in the room.

He was sure Charles could feel him as well, but so long as he was under the blanket of the helmet, he felt somewhat safe. The faucet of the shower turned on, but other than that, there was nothing.

But nothing never happened when you could control one of the most used elements.

Erik closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and listened.

Raven was - Thank Gott - bustling about the kitchen, thrusting the empty coffee pot every which way while she looked for coffee of some kind. He could feel some of the heat in the air through the screw on the lid. The burner was going, all the pots were in the right places.

The fridge door swung open, and it looked like Raven was settling for orange juice. But, he was a metal-bender, not a telepath, so he couldn't be for sure.

Emma was upstairs, and he could tell that because he could feel her pulse through the knife she kept underneath her pillow. She was loosely clutching it, so he got a pretty vague outline of what was going on. Her body was half-diamond, half-flesh. Everything below her waist was completely crystallized in her protective coating, and Erik was earnestly beginning to have doubts about whether Emma was born that way, or if it was just her manifested mutation.

Charles had once explained to him over a game of chess that the two were as much the same as they were different, but stab Erik in the eye because he got lost in pure bliss at just watching Charles getting so excited that he forgot to actually listen. 

She had some sort of anklet on with a metal clasp and a gold ornament on it, and it was beginning to shake. Hopefully, Erik thought, it would mean she would be getting up soon.

And Charles was in a completely different position then when Erik had left him. The band was getting battered with the hot spray of the shower . . . but it was also sitting on the metal bar on the _bottom_ of the shower. Like Charles had-

Erik's muscles tightened. He didn't know how he could have missed Charles _falling down in the shower_ but he had apparently, during his scope of the house, and that was unforgivable. Before he knew what he was going to do, he could feel a purpose-built railing coming down form a bench within the shower and wrapping around Charles's torso and-

"Erik!" he heard Charles's muffled shouting. "Erik, will you stop this? I'm _fine_!"

Erik didn't respond, for he was looking for the bench.

Though he had never seen the finished project that was Charles bathroom, he knew it was quite extensive from the piping. This was the one room in the house that they had to build themselves, and it was very difficult, but now, it was seemingly worth it.

Erik had been nervous of just this. Even with Emma's research and such, he knew something bad would happen if he left Charles alone.

"Erik, stop!" Another strangled shout called out to him as he set Charles down as nicely as he could on the bench.

He wanted to go in there and see for himself if Charles was alright, but he wouldn't be able to do that. Not with a good excuse, at least.

He sat back on the bed and waited.

 

**_Charles_ **

 

"I want you to take it _off_."

He didn't know who had left clothes in there for him, but he was wishing he was remotely religious so he knew what god to pray to. They were his clothes, too, which made everything _so_ much better. A soft, beige sweater, brown pants, and he was even given shoes.

His hair was still wet as he wheeled out. That was his first shower he had had in five months; it was glorious. however, it was that much harder to dry off and get dressed. The pants, obviously, were the hardest to slink into.

Erik stared over at him from the bed with amusement. "What are you talking about?"

Charles threw his hand up and pointed to the metal band around his wrist. " _This_. I want it _off_. It has nothing to do with my safety or my health and as much as I . . . appreciate what you're trying to do for me, I want this," he shook his hand in emphasis. " _Gone_."

Erik sat and stared at the band for a minute. "Charles . . ." he seemed hesitant, like what he was about to say would upset Charles. "Charles, no."

"What do you mean, ' _No_ '?" he almost shouted.

Erik raised an eyebrow. "I'm not fighting you on this, Charles. It's not coming off. You could have been hurt if I wouldn't have caught you."

"I wasn't falling! Tell me, how else was I supposed to get into the shower? I couldn't very well _pick up_ my wheelchair off the ground and _float_ into the shower. I crawled." Sort of. He sort of crawled. There wasn't much else for him _to do_ , as degrading as it was. Moving around was hard enough as it was without someone telling him he was doing it wrong.

Erik looked regretful, and Charles felt apologetic. "I'm sorry Charles, but _it_ stays _on_."

And Charles wanted to _scream_ when Erik walked beside him as he wheeled himself out of the door. What right did Erik have? Who did Erik think he _was_?

Charles huffed. Maybe his stay couldn't be negotiated any more, but the band could. He'd find a way to get it off if it killed him.

"Was the _metal_ wheelchair necessary?" Judging by his heavy footfalls, Erik was following close behind the chair. "That was the one accessory I came with, you know."

Again, he didn't _mean_ to be bitter, but the words were lemon and salt rolling off his tongue.

Erik seemed to brush this off. "I found it . . . a precaution. The house wasn't built kindly to your . . . condition and we've modified best we could, but this way I know I can . . . help, if need be."

Charles's face heated. Why was so much work being put into his stay? He wasn't going to be there for very long anyway - Erik would have had to've known that. Unless . . . But Erik wasn't good at ulterior motives.

At all.

Now he wanted to say something, but he couldn't find the words.

The malady was sparse in the life of a telepath, he found, throughout the years. If he found himself not knowing what to say, he could simply pull what he knew what someone else wanted to hear right out of their head's. If he didn't know what to do, he could radiate _calm_ and all would be well. He had done this so many times throughout his life that it was almost by rote now. (It had even saved his and other's lives a time or two.) But, Erik had the helmet and Charles knew that he was slightly rusty from staying in the same minds all those months. If he tried in this situation, he might run into Erik's mind like a freight train.

They made it into the kitchen silently, and he didn't know when, but at some point, Erik had begun to steer him. He didn't protest this, and Erik didn't over-extend himself, allowing Charles to maneuver himself up to the dinner table.

"Morning." Raven mumbled in his general direction, sipping her coffee peaceably in the red chair. She was engaged in some novel in her hands that looked like it had survived wars.

He nodded at her and inquired what she was reading.

"This?" Raven closed the book, marked her page, and looked at the cover intensely, as if willing it to change from the yellow front. "It's an Austen compilation. Very intriguing stuff. Emma left it for me this morning."

 _She thinks I can't entertain myself when she's gone._ Raven was spiteful yet amused. _Did you say something to her?_

 _Never would I ever._ Because Charles had had a very interesting conversation with Ms. Frost about a number of things before she crept out that morning, and he did inform her - probably around the same time he was left in peace in the shower - that Raven was never particularly good with patience and adored period pieces.

There was no _speaking_ involved, technically.

Raven looked him over skeptically as Erik rummaged around the fridge. _Did he do something to you?_

Charles wanted to laugh.

 _Nothing coming to mind, no. Besides,_ he added. _It's about time you all stopped going easy on me. I've got all my 'game' back now._

Out loud Raven giggled, finding something funny in the way Charles phrased that. _You're too English to ever use that phrase. Put that under 'Horrible Pick-Up Lines That Never Work'._

"Am I missing something?"

Erik was staring at them from the end of the table, an empty plate in his hand. Charles balked; the helmet was sitting six feet away from Erik and he didn't look ready to pounce and screw back on his head.

Charles swallowed. "Nothing at all."

Erik gave them both a once over before returning to the fridge, mumbling something about schoolgirls.

And Raven giggled under her breath. _Nothing,_ she thought, _Better than screwing with the boss's head._

Meanwhile, Charles could only stare at the toast someone had put in front of him and the butter that was also in his peripheral. He knew he should do something in order to not look like he was about to have a nervous breakdown, but he just couldn't manage himself. His arms felt as useless as his legs.

Erik's helmet was off.

Erik removed it without Charles pulling his hair out.

And the first thing Charles could read was an emotion.

And emotion he hadn't picked up much in his entire life.

An emotion he had read from Emma.

And Raven.

And his father oh so long ago.

And a drunk pondering.

He had read _love_ when he actually looked at Erik's mind.

A fleeting thought, really, but the thought exactly was quite clear - a realization.

Flashes were unknowingly projected at him from Erik.

One where they were in the study, whispering over the chessboard with dust and books for company. Erik has, apparently, just tried to tell Charles a joke, telepathically, in German, but mixed up an imperative pronoun.

Charles is a spluttering, blushing, and giggling mess.

Another.

They are outside on the grounds, thinking of a new way to help the children - namely Alex - practice in safety. Charles is trying to explain a theory he has about the blasts; Erik distracts himself with Charles's voice and a rosebush.

Later, Erik is fidgeting on a small stool while Charles picks out the last of the thorns of his hair.

_"I was trying to multi-task, Charles. This isn't funny."_

Charles is only letting out breathy chuckles every other second in silence, but when Erik's determined voice settles the air, he can't help but cackle like a madman. And when he begins to breathe normally again, he advises Erik to use pruners with his _hands_ instead of a _rake_ with his _powers_.

And finally . . . the garden.

The picture is draw almost perfectly parallel to Sean's, but instead, it focuses mainly on Charles. And it's draw in such a light that fuzziness is over-riding Charles's organs, and he can swear, for a moment, that his heart stops simply because he's feeling a tenth of what Erik had felt that day.

. . . _So pathetic._ Erik thinks. _I've even fallen in love with the way he laughs . . ._

And for once, it seemed, Charles did not have all the answers.


End file.
